On Your Shores
by swan-scones
Summary: "Just end it," he whispers. "I thought I had rid myself of all this pain, in ridding myself of Han Solo. But I have not, I cannot. And that's because of you." Set directly after TFA. Slow-burn Reylo. Rating will change to M accordingly. [Title Changed from 'You Can See The Island'].
1. Chapter 1

His blood slides down his cheek bone onto the snow and runs through it, changing its colour forever. It steams, too hot in the cold. He struggles to sit up again, the pain is making him sweat in the ice, the pain is clouding his eyes, his mind, and he weeps, and he aches, and he is deaf and he is blind. He just cannot fight. He falls back to the ground. He does not know how long it will be until he is searched for and found, and he cannot stand the pain, the chaos. He closes in eyes, heavy with tears, in a desperate need to find peace, and he can find nothing but one strange thing. He cannot dwell on why he needs it now; he is perplexed and angry at himself for it, but he just has to take himself back to that place (in her head).

And so he closes his eyes and he imagines an ocean – and he can see the island. He stills, and he is quiet.

* * *

"No," Luke Skywalker says.

Rey blinks at him, the wind roaring in her ears, her outstretched hand trembling. "No?"

"I will not train you."

She swallows down a heavy slab of disappointment and fear. She is so confused, elated, rejected, that its flavour is nothing, it is tepid and tasteless. Luke Skywalker's eyes are everything she imagined, the colour of a heavenly, early morning blue sky, holding the lustre of sunlight and the secrets of space – the colour of hope and mystery.

She panics, and she nods to the lightsaber in her hand. "It called to me," she explains, "it felt it, it –"

"The Jedi are silent now," Luke interjects, and she feels his loss, she feels he is loveless, motionless, disconnected, his Force is the withered, severed roots of a great tree –a dead life source.

"But, does that not mean something?" she begs, and she hears her voice shaking. "It _calls_ to me, it came to me!"

"It does not mean anything to me, anymore." Luke answers her, and he raises a hand. "The path to the Light, to the Jedi, I cannot help anyone find their way. Not even you."

 _What_ does that mean? Rey can feel the bitter sting of tears, and she can swear she still feels the sands of Jakku in her eyes, in her tears, sore, full of grit, those sandy tears. She can never wash that away – her tears will always be full of sand, and perhaps that is what Luke Skywalker is telling her, in revealing this, in breaking her heart, in waking her from the dream she is in, the dream that she is, and could be, a hero, and not a gutter skulk Jakku junker.

"There is not enough Light," he finishes, "not here."

She tries to focus her thoughts on the Light, on the Force, hoping he can _feel_ it, feel her fight and her goodness –she thinks of Finn's laughter, her awe in seeing sunlight dappling on the surface of water the first time, her painful, starved stomach as she gave her only quarter portion to a hungry child, she thinks of stroking Chewbacca's magnificently heavy and soft head as he cried the night Han died, she thinks of her desire to be good and be strong and whole. But it does nothing. She drops her arm and clenches her teeth. Luke feels nothing. She hisses, " _Please_."

He gazes at her.

" _Please_ ," she repeats. "Han Solo is dead. The First Order are – I – the Resistance –they are losing hope. This lightsaber called to me, the Force called to me – please – that means something. I know it."

Luke is steadily becoming, to her eyes, less wise and less beautiful and more dry and fragile and rough. He is becoming sand.

"You are strong," he says quietly.

Rey finds the confidence and need to answer, "Yes."

"Then keep the lightsaber," he tells her, "and I wish you the best. It may mean something, but it does not mean anything to me, and it cannot."

"How can you be so defeated," she starts, grinding her teeth, "when you haven't even attempted to fight?"

She grunts and she stubbornly attempts to hold in her tears, but it does not work. He doesn't answer. She looks at him one last time, drinks in his tired, empty face, those glorious eyes, and then turns and runs.

* * *

Leia's eyes, opaque, determined, search her face in confusion. Rey is covered in translucent red blotches from crying, and then tears will not stop, they cascade all over her, drown her, fill up her ears, fill up her mouth with salt – and she knows it is the taste of the ocean, and she tries to imagine the ocean, and she tries to see the island, but she just can't.

Leia is gripping her shoulders, and her gentle, lined hands somehow feel like the talons of a great bird. She is such a huntress, and Rey wishes so much to be like her, quietly powerful, and not _this_ , not this.

"Why?" she asks intently, and Rey shakes her head, tightening and baring her teeth.

"I don't know!" she bawls. "He wouldn't come back, he wouldn't train me, he has gone again. How will I ever learn, now?" She is asking herself rather than Leia, but Leia answers her with a kind, soothing hand against her cheek.

Rey succumbs to it, the feeling is like cool water over a burn, it is medicinal, it is pure relief – she has longed so much to be touched this way, with tenderness, with care. She has never known it. Nobody has ever tried to calm her tears. She is angry. She thinks of Han, of the curling twist of resentment in the pit of her stomach as she watched him die, and watched him place a hand on _his_ face, on Kylo Ren's face. It was a gesture of such deep, complete, limitless love that even as the death reached Han's eyes it did not falter for one moment – and she wonders why it is that she can be forever rejected and alone, and Kylo Ren, bathed in and drinking and dripping the blood of children, and his family, can be loved unmitigated until and beyond the day that he dies.

She closes her eyes and tries to focus on Leia's hand, but it's all breaking apart – she has no way to learn, to grow, to love, to help. She has never gained and then lost so much. She looks at Leia, and she knows that she does not belong here. She did not cry on Jakku – she slept restlessly, ate sparingly and bled excessively, but she did not cry, and she hates to cry.

She mews and then rips her face away, and Leia steps back, surprised.

"I am going home," she announces. Chewbacca protests, but she ignores it.

"Rey – " Leia begins, but Rey shakes her head and glares.

"I am not meant for this," she says, Leia reaches out for her, but Rey snatches herself away. She begins striding to an A-9 Vigilance Interceptor (she won't take the Falcon), and Chewbecca is pleading with her, and Poe is staring after her, seemingly destroyed.

"You can convince him, Rey," Leia calls after her. "He is stubborn, but you must find a way – you _will_. I know you will."

"Just stop – just _stop_!" Rey booms, her hands flying into the air as she begins running.

"What about Finn?" Poe pushes. They have to shout now, she is almost gone. Rey ignores this too, because Finn will be fine, and Finn will know they have little hope now that Luke Skywalker is lost to them – they fought and suffered for nothing, ultimately, and if it were the case Finn was always the first to admit when fighting was futile. She finally understands him. He had not been a coward before, he had been sensible, and she had been naive. She is not anymore.

"Let her go," Leia orders. And Rey takes it as an affirmation of what she had felt – she spends so long fighting for others, but none of them ever really fight for her, especially when she wants them to.

The lightsaber is in her pocket, and it feels warmer than before, heavier than before, but she will not pay it a second thought. She will not think of it again, despite how something whispers to her, earnest and intimate, over and over, _you must take these steps alone; you can take these steps alone._

* * *

Powerful and vulnerable and alone on Jakku for months, the First Order finally begins their first attempt to retrieve her. He remembers her thoughts, particularly the childhood ones he had taken – and he sees her, praying, howling, her eyes and the sky full of stars that were dying. There is _nothing_ here for her, he thinks to himself, as he steps out into the brittle sandy winds of the Town. They have no intelligence about Luke Skywalker's whereabouts – they know only that he is gone, that Rey is alone on her home planet, and apparently, the Resistance have offered her no protection.

He knows she will fight, and he is sure she is Luke Skywalker's padawan, and so he greatly anticipates this. It drives him to mad excitement. He will relish this fight with her – _principally_ as Luke Skywalker's padawan – and he will relish his victory. He will relish feeling her strength, and he will further relish feeling her weakness. His heart is pounding so hard his eyes blur, and a seismic wave of awe rolls over him when he feels the first shot fired connect with a body, with a heartbeat – and stop it. He will never understand the strange loss and exhilaration that gives. The sky is full of red lights, and his fingers become slippery in his gloves. He is sweating with concentration, searching for that slightly familiar – ah –

She is hiding, he realises, and she is afraid. He feels her through the Force, her heart beating like the wings of a humming bird, burning and twisting and thrumming. _Yes,_ he thinks. She is not focused enough at all to feel him seeking her out, he knows this. He goes to that place – she is out in the dunes alone, hiding in the belly of a broken AT-AT half eroded by sand. He feels her pulling him, almost, and he lets her, he goes to her.

He sees her, and she does not have her lightsaber (his _birthright_ ). She is cowering. This isn't what he wanted. He had imagined this fight with her lusciously muscular and her Force tantalizingly, painfully Light and bright; he had wanted her stronger, dangerous. But this is not what he sees – she is _cowering_. Mucus sits quivering and shimmering on her upper lip. He wonders briefly why this is, but then he sees her eyes, and she stands up suddenly, and he shivers at the pure head rush this gives him. Now is the time. He starts running, his lightsaber buzzing to life, and he twirls it, feeling the weight and the heat – he is ready for this, yes, he is so _ready_ – she's running away, and he sees Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber in her hand. She unsheathes it and turns and begins running backwards, watching him, petrified. He Force runs – and he has caught her, and – no – this isn't enough. She shouts, "No!"

He lets out an angry growl and focuses his strength, channelling the Force through his outstretched hand to her joints, her knees, her elbows, her shoulders, and she cannot move. Her eyes are wild, wild and wide and apple green. She splutters as she tries to cry out. He holds her there, grinning behind his mask, and peels of his gloves, before throwing his helmet down into the sand. He will make sure he feels this with all of his senses; he wants to learn the scent of her blood and feel its warmth. She will pay for the shame and humiliation she caused him – it had almost cost him his rank, his honour, his Apprenticeship to the Supreme Leader. He is inwardly seething that despite this he cannot kill her, as these are his orders – no hatred or anger will ever entice him into disobedience. And so, he will at least make this take as long as it can.

Their eyes meet for a long, long moment. He watches her intently, and he releases her throat so that she can speak. The sand skitters against his boots and cloak as it moves through the wind. Strangely, she does not speak.

He raises an eyebrow. "Admiring your handiwork?" He knows she is running her gaze over the huge, thick, gnarly scar running from the right corner of his mouth to his left temple. She simply stands, panting.

"You feel weak," he states. "Why is that?"

She does not reply.

"Answer me," he demands.

She says, staring at his scar, "I _am_ admiring, yes. I'm glad Force healing isn't a Dark side discipline."

"Alright," he says. He will take it from her, then, if she won't answer. He raises his hand to focus the Force, but she is still trying to push him away. He can't quite –

"I like that you have to wear my victories on your face, Kylo Ren," she hisses, "I like that now, you can never forget how–"

She is taunting him and he will not take this again and he just wants to fight her and show her and so he releases her completely and swings forward with his lightsaber – she only just blocks it, she is so weak, he turns and swings again – she ducks, and starts running. He finds himself baring his teeth with strings of saliva running down his chin as he bellows, "You _had_ no victory!"

He channels the Force to her head, to her eyes, and strains as he pushes as much pain and power into her as he can. She topples and falls, crying out, unbalanced and in agony, and he runs at her – and then _kicks_ as hard as he possibly can in the jaw. Blood shoots out of her nose and she spits some into the sand, choking on it. He lifts her up again, by her hair, and then throws her down, she cries out – she can hardly fight, and as she begins to run and stand she makes an attempt to strike him. He blocks, and then uses his whole weight to press down on her. And now he is not tired and injured, and he is nearly a Sith Lord, he is almost there, and he is pushing her own lightsaber down, down, onto the flesh of her throat, and tears begin streaming out of her eyes and he can feel the pulsating, crackling heat of their lightsabers, the point that they join is sparking and warm and turning a dazzling shade of violet.

He pushes down, harder, and he is clenching and baring his teeth with the pure desire to have his moment with this girl, to show her. Her blood oozes down her chin and fizzes as the moisture touches the lightsaber in her hand. "You had no victory," he snarls, "you have nothing, and you know nothing, and you _are_ nothing!"

Her eyes flutter as the lightsaber softly brushes, and burns, her skin. She does not make a sound, and he admires this control. He pushes down harder and a fresh well of blood starts bubbling up, boiled by the heat of the lightsaber and by the heat of the fight, and he laps at his lips and swallows. He can smell burnt hair – in the wind her hair is loose and it sways into the crossed blades, sizzling into ash. He has had enough, he raises his other hand (she does not have the strength to push up anymore) and punches her in the abdomen, driving his fist up to her sternum, and she whines and falls down. The blood has dried brown in the sand. She coughs. He looks down at her and exhales and inhales thickly, still bursting with life.

He kneels down next to her. "Yes," he says softly when she glares at him, just able to move. "I _am_ admiring."

Her breath wheezes through her lungs and he watches her struggle for a few more moments, and then focuses on dark, dreamless sleep, and taps her forehead with his index finger, sending it to her. Her eyes close.

* * *

 **A/N: I am Reylo trash. Dont even care! Hope everyone enjoys this – it's a slow burner but I promise it'll be worth it. Please leave any feedback! May the motherfucking force be with us all.**


	2. Chapter 2

He takes the sleep from her.

She finds herself waking slowly, warily, having not slept in so long, she clutches for it, desperate, but it drags out and away, and she thinks of pebbles being pulled into the deeper gloom of the ocean by a gentle tide. When she opens her eyes she sees particles of dust, dancing and swarming in a single shaft of sunlight in the room. The lights embrace holds them safe: when they move into the further darkness they soon become misplaced, with no hope for reformation.

She notices him sat beside her then – she is strapped into a metal chair, in the same room as before. This is a different chair, however – it is larger and has a great number of new gadgets, one which she notices to be some kind of pneumatic compressor, and another seems to be heavy duty electricity conductor. She turns to him.

He has his mask back on so she cannot gloat anymore at the scar. Although now she realises her neck, as she turns, is spiking with pain, and covered in stained gauze. She thinks she is probably scarred too, now, which makes her wonder about healing herself and so much hungrier to learn, and then so much more hateful that she cannot; because Kylo Ren has eclipsed Ben Solo, and Han Solo, and Luke Skywalker.

"It didn't quite go to plan, did it?" he asks flatly, but his voice is obscured and distorted. She grunts and strains against her restraints. She is furious anew. She glares at the mask in front of her, and she can see her own reflection it is so shiny and black. He stands and walks to face her. This time she will stare out this eyeless head.

"Han Solo," she says to it, knowing he is in there. She is absolutely starving to avenge Han Solo, she is greedy for it.

"Han Solo is gone," he responds quickly. "And so is Luke Skywalker. But you know where he is."

"Han Solo," she says, rolling and sliding his name over her tongue, elongating the vowels, enjoying his unease. She felt she belonged for the first time in her life on board the Falcon. He has taken everything from her in taking Han Solo – a job, a friend, something to be proud of; someone to be proud of her.

"Where is Skywalker?"

"Han Solo."

"I am giving you a chance to co-operate."

"Han Solo."

"Desist."

" _Han Solo!_ " she barks, she is heaving with her breath now. She hopes she is filling him with nightmares.

"Why are you not the padawan of Luke Skywalker?"

She says nothing, just struggles again the chair. He can clearly feel her using the slippery grasp on the Force she has to try and free herself. He knows she is hoping history will repeat itself, and he almost finds it amusing. She suddenly stops and closes her eyes softly, and he can feel her coaxing strength from the Force, but it is not enough this time, she is too weak and becoming overwhelmed. She opens her eyes again, exasperated. She can feel him undulating and resonating and ricocheting with black power in front of her, it is too much – and she knows he has fed this darkness in the empty space that Han Solo left in the fabric of the Force.

"You should ask yourself the same question," she answers finally.

"If you won't answer willingly," he tells her, "then you will unwillingly."

"Han Solo."

"Unwillingly, then."

This time he places the pad of his index finger to her temple, and he is leaning right over her. She realises he has not taken off his gloves, and the leather is cool and refreshing on her skin, but somehow very uncomfortable. She resists as much as she can – but she is weak. She can feel him running through her, like a drop of blood through the water of a deep, clear lake. The sensation reminds her of a snake, tasting the air with its black, forked tongue, or a cat watching a very interesting little insect. It is strange, tentative but thorough, and she briefly questions if the lessened pain is due to a deliberate effort or a simple honing of skill, on his behalf.

"You would rather I don't wear gloves," he states. He is telling her he knows everything, he can see everything, now. She frowns at his mask. She cannot tell if he is concentrating, for she cannot see his face, but he does not break his speech with long pauses anymore, and his muscles are not tight in his arms.

 _I don't care_ , she thinks.

"Yes, you do," he says. "You are desperate for human contact. To be touched."

 _I don't want to be touched by you,_ she thinks.

"My eyes," he says, "you think they look like General Organa's. She cupped your face in her hand – ah – so... _relieved,_ so _astounded_ to be touched."

She tries to push him away. She can't.

"But somehow it hurts," he says finally. Then he slides off his gloves and he removes the mask and she is looking into Leia's eyes again, those dark eyes, so opaque, glittering but colourless. For a moment the connection grows blurry and soft, but then he places the pad of his finger against her temple again and it reignites and is deeper and bolder and hotter, it stings. He leans closer to her, and looks at her and speaks to her with a kind of intimacy she does not understand, and that makes her want to cry. "It hurts," he whispers, "because it reminds you of how alone you are."

Rey finds herself panting, her unease prickles her skin, nauseates her.

"You want to cry," he reminds her, his fingertip feels searing hot against her skin, "because you've never felt like this before. No-one has ever known this. They haven't really known _you_."

 _Stop,_ she thinks to him.

"So sad, you don't have a friend in the world."

 _Neither do you,_ she thinks.

"General Organa's eyes give you hope," he continues, ignoring her, "and it confuses you, and defeats you, to see those eyes now, in my face."

She hisses, pushing her arms and legs against the bolts and metal entrapping her.

"It makes you lose hope."

She notices he is looking directly into her eyes and so he is inspiring her to do so, to lose hope. She tries harder. He is right about this, she can hardly bear to see Leia in him, but she cannot let him win. She has already lost hope for herself, she cannot let him win.

"No, no, don't fight," he says softly, and he raises his palm and outstretches his fingers, and she is sent shooting back down against the back of the chair. She shouts out at the shock.

"General Organa wants you to go back – to Luke Skywalker." His preoccupation with her memories and thoughts and feelings about General Organa has not gone unnoticed. He reels through her memories of Leia. She feels them apparently spontaneously drift into her thoughts, but she knows he is ripping them out. She sees Leia laughing, smiling, and talking in a hushed voice. She thinks _you don't even deserve to be able to say her name, or Han's name. You don't deserve the right to call her your Mother._

"I don't," he says, and then she feels him let Leia go. Then he pushes, "you have seen Luke Skywalker, spoken to him. The Resistance acquired the map – a missing piece."

She tries to fill herself with thoughts of Han Solo and sand but he has razor sharp, ruthless focus on what he wants. He is stronger, he is so much stronger.

"Where was it?"

She can feel his strange anger and excitement, and she notices that in trying to pry her open deeper and deeper something is giving way to her, the tide is going out, she becomes one half of a cleaved fruit, patterned and coloured the same as him, in this moment.

"Skywalker is on an – an island," he says carefully, "in the ocean, in –"

She thinks of how similar that place was to her ocean and island. And then Rey _sees_ her imaginary ocean and her island, with the swarthy blue waters and gentle breeze, still and quiet in the night. She is filled with a sensation of release. But it is not in her own mind, which is twisted and stretched and burning excruciatingly, there is no release or peace at all, and yet she feels it, and she sees the exact same ocean –

She sees him bleeding, his blood rushing all over his face – closing his eyes – _imagine an ocean sleep be still it is quiet and peaceful and the island is hopeful and ah yes the waves roll slowly like breathing and it is quiet and there is the island don't think about the pain think of the ocean see it remember how she saw a silent bird in the sky too above her head soaring and free soaring over the ocean –_

His hand jumps away from her. A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead, and at the exact same moment he glances upwards to look at it, and then looks away suddenly.

"What was that?" she asks.

He is staring at the floor, apparently agonisingly confused and uncomfortable, a frown puckering his forehead, a tiny muscle in his jaw bouncing. His hand is gripping the side of the chair, and she sees one thick raised vein in it, running in between his knuckles, and she can almost feel it steadily pushing blood. It feels odd, curious.

"Something is wrong," he tells her. It is not a lie, after all. He has revealed something to her that he can hardly stand to acknowledge himself – that when it hurts, he finds himself finding her thoughts, her ocean, because it is the closest thing he knows to peace.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much for all of the lovely reviews, favourites and follows. It really means so much and completely inspires me to write. Hope everyone enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

Leia finds herself remembering, remembering carrying Ben in her body, feeling him ablaze with life; that paradoxical, internal and external burning, the most potent she had ever felt the Force within herself, within another. She remembers his first heart beat within her, feeling a tight twist, and then the sensation of a coil unravelling in her chest. She remembers how, as that little coil turned, she felt the thrumming and sparking and crackling of energy under her fingers, she felt her ears sting, burst, ring. She was filled with a glorious sensation of weightlessness, as though gazing at the sky while floating on a tepid, clear lake. She knew then that her child loved her.

And so every day she seeks it out, and just sometimes, that little coil still tightens and releases, and she knows he is not lost – no matter what people say.

* * *

"General," Poe says sternly, "I'm sorry, but we can't let you do this."

Leia turns to him, and stares at him incredulously. Poe raises his eyebrows. The light shimmers off the silver in her hair, effervescent and ethereal, kind of angelic – but then he notices her hand clutching a blaster, casual and capricious, and he suddenly feels a little intimidated.

"You can't let me do this?" she scoffs. "Sorry, what's your name again?"

Poe frowns and stammers, "You – it's Poe. Poe Dameron."

"Yeah, that's right, I remember, Poe Dameron," she says in mock surprise as she squints and flippantly switches off the safety on the blaster. "It's not _General_ Poe Dameron, is it?"

"No," he says.

"I see. And – sorry, what's my name?" she asks, and then she looks into his eyes and smirks.

"It's General Organa."

"Yes. _General_ Organa," Leia says, and then she clips the blaster into her belt and shakes her head at him, still smirking. "So, just remember that."

She starts striding forward, but Poe, his stomach churning with dread, grabs her shoulder. "General, you _can't_ do this. If the First Order know the Leader of the _Resistance_ is –"

"Poe," Leia says sternly, and then turns to him and her eyes are roaring to life, "my son is in trouble."

Poe sees her almost instinctively place her hand on her abdomen, a Mother caressing her empty womb.

"General –"

"I can feel it," she hisses, "I can feel him. There's something wrong. He is _afraid_."

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Poe insists. "This isn't about him, General. We're here to save Rey."

"We're here to save whoever needs saving," Leia adds. "And Ben needs saving, too."

He removes his hand. Leia nods once to him, rather curtly, and then moves forward towards the other small gathering of pilots and fighters, and claps loudly, keeping her hands clasped before her chest.

"Let's fly!" she announces, and an uproar begins, everyone is moving, preparing, and Poe's hair is shot back by the great, whooping gust of air an X-Wing whirls up. He puts on his helmet, climbs into the cockpit, and Leia follows behind him shortly afterwards.

She does not speak at all on the journey to Moraband.

* * *

"Will you tell me where Skywalker is, or not?" he asks her. Rey blinks at him, perplexed.

"No, I won't," she answers, "I just made that clear." She gazes at him. He is pacing around her in a tight circle and has been for several minutes. He slides his fingers back into his gloves. He will not look at her. He seems very agitated. This close, she notices small things that make her excited and feel strong – he is sweating and he thinks she has not realised, but she sees a few languorous black curls slicked and stuck behind his left ear by the moisture. She can see the thin, long muscles of his throat contact when he swallows. There is something really quite heady about watching him panic.

"Will you tell me why you are no longer allied with the Resistance?"

She knows he will not tear these answers out of her mind because he is too afraid. "Because I don't want to be," she says honestly. At this point, he stops moving suddenly and looks into her eyes with such ferocity she visibly recoils.

"What?" he bites.

"I don't want to be a Resistance fighter. I didn't say I don't believe in their cause. It just isn't for me, any of this."

The intensity dissolves.

"You're wise to stay out of it," he says quietly.

"I know," she agrees.

There is a pause. "Then you won't be needing that lightsaber," he concludes, and then tilts his head back and looks intently into her eyes. A tiny diamond of light glints in his right iris.

It is still in her pocket, resting against her. She feels it against her skin through the thin cheesecloth of her clothes, and it has grown so cold, so blisteringly cold, it seems to be burning off the pale dusting of soft hairs on her upper thigh.

He steps forward.

"If you hand that over, you pose very little threat to the First Order," he explains, and his voice is disorientating in its gentleness. "Hand that over and I will not come looking for you again."

She just wants to be left alone. She shifts slightly in the chair. She knows he is cleverer than this.

"You have taken me prisoner again hoping to find the whereabouts of Luke Skywalker, to get more Resistance intelligence, and you still don't know," she counters. "You haven't really got anywhere, have you?"

His jaw tightens.

"Why would you stop? I know too much."

He steps forward again.

"Having a lightsaber means nothing. I can still – I can still feel the Force, I can still use it," she ventures. And then seethes, "I could still win."

"You haven't won," he says quickly. "You won't. If you thought you could, you'd fight with the Resistance."

He is very close to her face, and she wonders for a moment if he is reaching into her soul again, but then she feels no push to resist against in her mind.

"I've always fought on my own," she growls. Suddenly she feels heat ebbing up into her cheeks, and her pulse quickens in her wrists.

"Give me the lightsaber."

She feels compelled by the ever-growing sizzling cold of the lightsaber against her not to hand it over.

"It's mine," she answers. "Why do you want it so much?"

It is _Anakin Skywalker's_. He hisses, "It's _mine_."

She barks, "It came to _me_!"

"Just," he inhales slowly, closing his eyes, and his eyelashes sit long and black on his cheeks for a moment. Then they flash open, and he glares at her, and his eyes are subaqueously dark. "Just _give_ it to me."

"No," she whispers, and unable to look at him this close and this severely she looks at the ceiling.

He exhales, raises his eyebrows, and then leans in closer. "I'll just take it, then." He uses one large hand to brace himself on the chair, and places it beside her head. As she turns, she notices about an inch of her hair has been burnt off, and she can faintly smell it. The tips are black and rustle against her clothes. He is so close now she can smell him, too, his hair smells sandy and salty and she knows it's from the dunes of Jakku.

The other hand reaches downward, skims again her hip, and then delves into her pocket. His long fingers brush her upper thigh, and she squirms, growling, and tries to headbutt him, but her slashed throat makes her flinch backwards in pain. He grasps the lightsaber and pulls it away. His knuckles ghost along her hip.

He looks at it, turns it over tenderly in his fingers. She suddenly remembers the significance, the lightsaber is Anakin Skywalker's, it's a relic of the Dark side's victory over a good man. She sees him run his finger down its length, struck into awed silence, and it all feels like a bad dream.

* * *

Everything on Moraband is red. The winds are harsh and tinged like bloody bodily fluids by the sand. Leia walks through it, completely without armour and fear, and as it scratches her eyes they become bloodshot. She feels the tiny veins stretching and webbing their way over her cornea, and she should be seeing red, because everything is red, and her eyes are red – but she sees no red at all.

This is the closest she has been to Ben in many years, and she can feel the little coil, the little twist of him forever in the fibres of her body, bending and swirling. He is so afraid of something, the coil whirls madly and stills, it is wound so tight, there is so much tension, and it hurts her – Leia knows this is a warning to leave. His anger echoes out in her head like a scream in a long, dense tunnel.

"I can feel him," she tells her troops. They all know what she means.

The new First Order headquarters are modest, for now. It is mostly a metal frame, with one long, grey bricked building stretching high up into the sky, which is grey splintered with burning gold, orange and crimson, like a violent sunset. She recognises the insignia the Stormtroopers now wear, embellished into the brick.

And then hundreds of them, sensing their presence and seeing their ships, come running out through some sort of drawbridge to the left of the building, vibrantly, boldly white against all of the deep reds. She aims and shoots, her arm locked in to absorb the shock of the blast. Poe, running beside her, is clearly taken aback by her marksmanship, and she finds herself rolling her eyes at him, wondering what else he expected.

"You can't be seen, General!" He shouts to her through the noise and the wind, his blaster firing precisely and quickly, "you have to hide!"

Leia nods, "I'm going to get Rey," she says, "where is Finn? He wanted to –"

"Just go!" Poe tells her, "if any of them recognise you –"

"Alright," she tells him, and she catches his pilot helmet has he throws it to her. She puts it on. "You know I can't hide from Ben, Poe," she reminds him. She shoots down their closest attacker and then looks back at him. "There isn't much point in this."

Poe says, "I think you are too trusting, General."

 _Like Han was,_ he wants to say. He doesn't.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much again everyone, for all of the fantastic reviews and favourites and follows – I was so happy about it all I wrote this when I should have been working. It means a lot. Hope everyone liked! As a side note, please see my other fic You Are Perfect for a little more of my head canon on Leia and Ben's mother son force bond.**


	4. Chapter 4

"I thought you were no longer allied with the Resistance," he says suddenly. He tilts his head to the right, looking back towards the door, and frowns, snarling slightly. He becomes very still, as though listening for a faraway sound. The muscles in his temples begin to pulse. Her thigh feels oddly warm.

"I'm not," she tells him.

"Then _why_ ," he hisses, and then turns back to stare at her, his fingers flexing, "is this system crawling with Resistance fighters?"

Rey shuffles in the chair and attempts to stand straighter, to focus and listen, to feel any shift or change in the Force. She feels nothing but the Dark emanating from him, oscillating around the room, the energy so tangible it seems to be shuddering against her lips.

"I don't know," she answers. He looks at her sceptically for a moment, and then suddenly turns back. His cloak twirls behind him and sends a little breath of chilly air into her face, drying the blood under her nose and cooling her sweat. He puts his helmet on. He clips her lightsaber onto his belt.

It is then that she feels General Organa through the Force, as though she is pulling tension on tiny threads in Rey's chest. She gasps. She will be saved – the relief hits her and refreshes her, as though dipping her sore, hot foot into a cold well of water after a long day roaming the desert.

"I won't be taking any chances with you, this time," he says, and his voice again is mechanical and distorted. He approaches her again and holds his hand carefully in front of her face. She notices he is trembling slightly. "We are not finished yet, but I can't afford to let anyone else guard you, can I, after that little trick you pulled last time?"

She struggles.

"I will put you to sleep. You will be sedated by a medical droid every two hours until this is over."

"Until _what's_ over?" she begs. "Please –"

He focuses again on that mysterious, heavy, dreamless sleep, and slides it into her, neatly as a blade into the flesh of a ripe fruit. She slumps in the chair. The door clicks open and the droid rolls in with a syringe of clear fluid in its small metal arm. It pauses, assesses, and he waits.

"Permission to alter posture of the prisoner, from supine to prone, sir," it requests. "Sedative to be administered into the gluteal muscle rather than deltoid."

"Granted," he says. The droid removes her restraints – and he can feel her straining to wake so he holds her tighter in that empty sleep– and turns her carefully, pulling her head to the side to aid breathing as it slips her unto her stomach. The restraints close atop her. The droid then drags the clothing of her lower half downwards slightly, positioning the needle, and just before he leaves he sees a little square of the supple, sunny flesh of the small of her back.

* * *

 _Mother,_ he thinks, he is terrified. He feels Leia Organa in the Force, and it feels just like her kiss did on his forehead, tender and wombing. He knows she is here because she has felt his fear, and he thinks of her kiss and he thinks of her gently waking him from nightmares when he was a boy. She is here for that exact same reason, he realises, because she thinks he is about to wake from a nightmare.

But it is _her_ nightmare, not his.

He steps over two bodies, splayed over the floor. One of the Resistance fighters (and he thinks it is likely Leia Organa herself) has obviously infiltrated the base. He will not go out to the battlefield if it can be avoided – he is exhausted from harnessing the girl, exhausted from feeling her thoughts, exhausted from sharing her pain. He hopes she forgets seeing that ocean in his mind after all of the sedation. He doesn't quite know what it all means, but he knows it isn't something he should encourage within himself.

Leia Organa is attempting to conceal herself. He can just about feel her, like the soft brush of long grass against his skin, barely there. He needs her to reveal herself. He stops hunting her, and decides he will allow himself to be hunted for now. He knows she will always chase a certain kind of bait, after all, just like Han Solo did – she will always chase Ben Solo, she will always hunt Ben Solo, she is aching and starving for Ben Solo.

 _Mother,_ he sends out, feeling it ripple and widen into the Force. _Mother, I'm here._

He doesn't feel anything.

 _Mother,_ he pressures into the Force, _Mother, I am afraid. I can feel you. I'm so glad to be close to you again. Mother, I'm here._

He tries to bleed the child within him then, he tries to remember something to ignite her senses and make her search. He pauses for a moment, to think, and then he considers something. He thinks of their last tearful conversation as Mother and son, discussing his leaving to begin training as a Jedi. He knows it will hurt her and fill her with desperation.

 _I'm going to feel so sad when you fly away,_ he pushes out, remembering his exact words.

He feels a coil begin to unravel, and he knows that she is chasing, she has taken the bait, she is on the hunt. He smiles.

* * *

Rey wakes to see Leia in front of her, with her eyes wide and staring into hers. They are the kind of full, warm dark eyes that reflect light – and now they are full of tears, so they gleam almost gold.

"Rey," Leia whispers, and Rey blinks erratically, trying to recall how she came to be here. She notices in a sickly moment of dark surprise that the clothing on her lower half has been pulled down to her thighs, and that her skin is exposed and prickling in the cold.

"Why are my – where are my –" She stutters, and hurriedly yanks them up back over her hips. The upper left part of her buttocks is very tender, almost feels swollen. "What's happened to me?" she asks in horror, her breath quickening. Leia squeezes her shoulder.

"Sedative," she says, and gestures to a droid on the floor. It now has no anterior or head. The electronic, metal innards of it fizzle and spark white. She sees, from what is left of its cracked arm, it had been holding a syringe.

"What –"

"You've been without it for about half an hour now," Leia tells her calmly, and continues patting her, affirming, "you're going to be alright. We're getting you out of here."

Rey feels her knees quaking and chokes a little.

"It's alright," Leia tells her again, and Rey wonders vaguely why she is so tearful.

"Where is Kylo Ren?" Rey breathes, "where are the others? Are they –"

"One step at a time, Rey," Leia tells her. Rey notices the blaster in Leia's hand and a shock of exhilaration hits her. Despite it being a useless effort, she could not deny that she loved fighting, and blasters were raw and exact.

"We need to go," she says, and suddenly attempts to stand. Her muscles are somewhat numb, particularly her calves, but she nonetheless pushes up with the tiny pang of strength she has left. Leia supports her by looping her arm around her shoulders.

"Are you sure you can run? We're going to need to run soon, Rey. We do have time –"

"Please, let's just get out of here," Rey insists, and smiles weakly at Leia. "Thank you, General, for –"

"One step at a time," Leia says firmly, and again knowingly squeezes her hand once. They start to move. Rey feels queasy to the point it is near debilitating, but she swallows hard and continues on. The place is a labyrinth but somehow Leia knows where to go, and so Rey walks without thinking. But then she does think, and she manages to mutter, "Why are you crying?"

Leia is crying now, and crying hard, too. The tears roll over her in silence, her eyes burn gold with pain, and her face is empty. She doesn't answer.

* * *

Leia can still almost feel his little heart inside of her breaking, and it hurts so much to leave him, when he is crying to her, when he needs her, when he is so close. But Poe is right. Han made the mistake of trusting him too much. She knows, from those deeper feelings, from that deeper maternal knowledge, that he is calling, but it is not a call to his Mother.

It is a call to war.

* * *

 _Where are you going, Mother?_ He sends out to her, feeling the gulf between them widening.

But he is not answered. He grunts and unsheathes his lightsaber. Leia Organa is wiser than Han Solo, he thinks, and he regrets underestimating her. He stalks back towards the east of the building, the dread dawning on him. He calls out to the girl, through the Force, for the first time.

Within it she is like a tightly closed flower bud, velvety, full of potential.

 _We're not done yet,_ he tells her.

* * *

Beside Leia, Rey shrieks.

"Rey?" Leia gasps, grappling her arms and pulling her back to her feet. They are almost aboard Poe Dameron's Interceptor.

The red sands swirl around Rey's face, slashing her hair over her cheeks. Her eyes are wide, and she stares at Leia's face in terror. "He's in my head," she whispers, shuddering, "I can hear him talking to me."

 _How can you escape, now, Rey?_

Rey makes a pained, guttural noise. Leia and Poe share a knowing, uncomfortable glance at each other, and then Leia leans forward and carefully, powerfully, thrusts Rey's weight into Poe's arms. He catches her and helps her climb inside.

 _You're not escaping._

Rey squirms, and Poe holds her still. "Hey, c'mon, it's alright, Rey." He tries to set her down on the medical bed, but she pushes back on her heels.

"Please – I can't sleep. I won't sleep like _this_!" She insists.

 _You can't escape any more. Not now._

She doesn't understand, but she somehow knows what he is saying is true.

* * *

 **A/N: Again, thanks so much for such a great response. It really means so much! Hope everyone enjoyed this and let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

Poe steadies Rey, who is now pale, her skin glossy and white. She teeters as she stands, swaying a little to the side. She sees Finn, running at them, and an exhausted smile tugs the corners of her mouth for a moment. She has finally stopped shouting and shrieking, but it has been replaced by a kind of numb, tormented silence, and that unnerves Poe even more.

Finn is bolting towards them, his feet hitting the ground so hard beneath him that dirt clouds around him. "Rey!" he booms. Rey leans heavily on Poe and raises her hand, wiggling her fingers at Finn.

Finn reaches them and stands before them, panting, his eyes ravishing her face. "Give her to me," he says suddenly, and nudges Poe out of his way. Poe hands her over, rolling his eyes. Finn almost envelopes her, desperately confused and concerned. "Rey, what happened to you?"

Rey looks at him blankly and then shrugs, mewing.

"What?" Finn demands.

Leia then steps off the ship as it howls to a standstill, switching the safety on her blaster. Finn glowers at her venomously.

"Buddy –" Poe begins, sensing he is about to break into frenzied shouting. Finn bats his hand away with his free arm, clutching Rey against his side.

"Why the _hell_ didn't you wait for me?" he barks. Leia raises her eyebrows and gazes at him, surprised, unaffected.

"If I'd have waited, she might not have lived," she says simply.

" _Look_ at her," he accuses, and nods down at Rey's jittering form, rasping with breath, throat burnt. "Look at her! Why did you _ever_ let her leave?"

"Finn," Poe warns, aware that Finn has forgotten, in this terrified, frantic moment, that he is badmouthing the General. Leia smiles at him softly, unperturbed and cool.

"She made a choice, Finn. She has chosen to abandon the Resistance. We had no reason to retrieve her at all, strictly speaking."

Rey pats him on the arm feebly in a hope to shut him up. But Finn stares at Leia, outraged, a little bead of sweat rolling down from his temple to his jaw.

"Are you _kidding_ me, after everything she's done?" Finn snaps. "You're being so – you're acting like such a _callous_ little –"

"Finn!" Poe interjects, and then stands in front of him, his one hand raised. "Relax, O.K.? She's safe. We got her back, and she's safe."

Finn ignores him, "I can't _believe_ –"

"Finn, she's the General," Poe implores.

Finn searches his eyes and then, seething, nods his head. Rey seems to breathe a croaky sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry, General," he grinds out.

Leia begins walking away, and smirks, "Good job, Finn."

* * *

Rey is left to recover with the rest of the injured, though she only brandishes one, already perfectly treated battle-scar, across her throat. Finn sits at the edge of her bed, his head in his hands. He is silhouetted against the heavenly blue sky, a little ray of sunlight gleaming on the buttery leather of his jacket.

"I'm alright, Finn," she tells him, and then triumphantly sits herself up. She has been fed and finished several glasses of water, and the pallor has slightly lifted from her lips.

"You didn't even say goodbye," he whispers. And then he turns to look at her. "You were the first person – really, the only person – I wanted to see. And you were gone."

Rey swallows the guilt like stodgy water-bread, thick and ugly.

"I'm sorry, Finn. But you must understand – there's nothing left for me here."

"So what if Skywalker doesn't train you?" he insists, "You're a pilot, an engineer, you can fight. There are so many things you could do, ways you could help. We don't _need_ a Jedi to win."

"You do when they have Sith," she says quietly. Finn clears his throat.

"He's not a Sith Lord," he says.

"Almost. He's almost there, trained. I couldn't fight him, Finn, I barely got one clean shot. It was different this time. He's working harder, he's stronger."

"Yeah, and only because _you_ scared him into working harder, because _you_ won the first time –"

"I didn't _this_ time," she gestures to her neck, wincing at the pain of tilting her head back slightly. "I don't think I can again. Not if I don't know anything. I can't win like this. We can't win like this."

"You sound like me a long time ago," Finn smiles sadly. "It's wrong, you know. You have to stay hopeful."

Rey takes in his face slowly, his kind, maroon-brown eyes, the large, soft mouth, the furrowed brow. She doesn't want Kylo Ren to have another victory over her, over her mind, her thoughts, but here she is, just as he said, losing hope.

"You didn't see what I saw," she whispers, "he's – it's hopeless to try to fight him in my situation." His heady dark eyes come to mind.

Finn snorts, "You're not the only one fighting him."

A steady, even voice interrupts, "In the end, she's the only one that can."

They both look up to see Leia stood in the threshold. Rey hurls herself up to sit properly, smiling as tightly as she can. Leia is still dirty from the sands of Moraband, her skin grubby and tinged a dirty reddish colour, chapped by the sand and the winds.

"How are you?" Leia asks tenderly, and Rey gulps down the taste of sick. "You look a little better."

"I feel it," Rey says brightly, "General, thank –"

Leia waves a hand, and Rey halts immediately. She walks towards them and her hair, now a great mass of plaits on her head, makes her look like a majestic beast. Finn noticeably refuses to stand.

"Finn," Leia says calmly, "there are a few people waiting for you."

"It can wait," he insists. Leia shakes her head.

"You're needed, Finn."

Finn stands with a sigh and taps Rey's leg, a cross between scolding and soothing. "If you need me, just let me know, alright?"

Rey nods. Finn looks at Leia.

"Please make sure I know if I'm needed here."

Leia nods her agreement. Finn leaves – Rey watches him go tiredly, enjoying the sight of the sun splaying across the side of his face when he steps through the doorway. It looks warm out there, happy.

Leia now takes his place at the edge of her bed, and Rey suddenly gets the feeling that Leia is holding a heavy burden along with her beacon. Something weighs, hard and cold, on Rey's chest, smashing through her ribs, hurting her heart. She realises that these are not her feelings.

Leia looks at her knowingly, and dips her head, as if in silent prayer.

* * *

" _Looking good, kid."_

 _He looks down at himself, his soft brown robes billowing at his sides, tussling vivid green grass beneath his feet, which is speckled with tiny blue flowers. He looks up at Han Solo, Father, smiling down at him. He looks smug and wise. Ben agonises over these last few minutes with him, inconsolably anxious, already feeling his absence although he hasn't left yet. He is pathetic and doesn't know what to say, so he shrugs and smirks._

" _You look like a man, now, son," Father tells him. "Don't tell any of the girls there you're fifteen, if you catch my drift."_

 _Ben shrugs again, feeling his lower lip tremble – he can't laugh now._

" _Hey, you're gonna be one heck of a Jedi," Father assures him, and winks. He moves towards him and slaps him on the back. When Ben finds himself biting his tongue hard, using the pain to withhold his tears, Father's hand, large and lined and rough and warm, comes to sit against his cheek. His thumb moves in a gentle diagonal line._

" _Ben –"_

 _He then realises there is a huge wound in his Father's chest. He can see his insides, pink as overripe Corellian nectarines, glistening. The blood seems to be blooming over the white fabric like a gigantic red flower. Ben is horrified and he staggers backwards. He can smell the burnt skin. His Father's hand is still comfortingly stroking his face – but when Ben looks up at him his eyes are filmed over, strange and papery like the wings of a moth, dried up and dead. Ben screams, and screams and screams, struggling to get away._

 _His father is smiling, bleeding, reeking. "You're gonna be one heck of a Jedi, son –"_

He wakes so suddenly his whole body spasms and he bites his tongue, a little well of warm blood growing beneath it. He can hardly breathe. He walks to the sink, spits out the blood, rinses out his mouth, and squeezes his eyes shut. He has not had more than three hours sleep a night, since the death of Han Solo – sometimes he can hardly stand to look himself in the eye. He must sleep, he must rest. He exhales and gets back into the bed.

He tries to focus on his breath. He feels the waves of it push up and down his body, rhythmic and heavy, like an ocean moving against the shore.

He closes his eyes and he imagines it again, that ocean, her ocean, her little island in the distance. His breathing steadies, slows. He bathes in the blue tranquillity of that ocean, he submerges his head, and he feels so sated, so calm, that he can scarcely think at all.

* * *

"Why could I hear him in my head?" Rey asks, subdued. She isn't quite sure if it's normal, or what it could possibly mean. Leia presses her lips together.

"Force telepathy," she answers, matter-of-factly. "It connects all living things – and some things, and some people, more than others."

Rey is still unsure of what that means. She sips her glass of water and then runs her hand through her hair, hearing it bristle as she reaches the frazzled, burnt tips. "So, you're saying we have a – a connection?"

"I suppose so. Two Force-sensitive individuals, in each other's heads, what else can you expect?"

Rey shudders. "What does it mean?"

"I couldn't possibly know," Leia sighs. "I don't think anyone does. I am bonded to Ben in a similar way – but that's because I am his Mother."

Rey shuts her eyes, unable to comprehend, and feverishly tries to deaden herself, to numb down her sensitivity. She does not want to feel him, she does not want to even sense his presence again, but somehow her curiosity has intensified to the point that reaching out to him has become almost irresistible. She does not know what to do.

"But I think I am connected to Ben so deeply, because, despite how much it hurts me – oh, Rey, people say there's 'too much Vader' in him – but I think there's too much of me."

Rey sucks in a breath and frowns. Leia is so beautiful and powerful and gold that Rey cannot even made out the shadow she casts on the floor. She does not understand. "You are full of Light," she says.

"Luke offered to train me too, a long time ago," Leia says, soft and nonchalant. "But I refused it. Not because I didn't want to learn, but because I couldn't. I couldn't restrain myself the way Luke could, I couldn't hold back my emotions, my thoughts. I felt too much. I couldn't deny myself things. I couldn't – I couldn't deny myself Han."

Rey sees the ghosts of white flowers, long kisses, and hushed conversations in Leia's face.

"I couldn't be a Jedi, even if I wanted to. I'm not as controlled," she finishes.

Rey shakes her head. "There's nothing wrong with loving." She does not know, but love looks like a morsel of heaven.

"It's not Jedi, though, any of it. And it's not Ben."

Rey looks at her and sees and feels the time and the strength coursing through her, the rippling colours of it all. She wonders for a moment how strongly Leia can feel Kylo Ren now – she wonders where Leia finds this constant, resolute hope for him. These connections perhaps run so deep, so deep, that they're further than the centre, further than the core – they're at and in the soul.

"It's our feelings, they connect us," Leia explains. But then she senses Rey is uncomfortable, and backtracks. "It doesn't have to _mean_ anything, Rey. Perhaps it's just because you are both strong. I don't know."

"Yes," Rey agrees, soothed by this. Whatever it is, she doesn't want it, not with Kylo Ren – and she twinges her neck to feel the pain he has inflicted on her to remind her of this. She is aching and bewildered and so tries to move away from it, to ignore it. "I just wish I could learn more."

"Luke can still be convinced. I don't know how, but he can be."

Rey feels her breath hitch in her throat. She has an idea.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much to all of my lovely reviewers, new favouriters and followers. Again, all of the great support and feedback has led me to write ridiculously fast.** **Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

Rey dips her stiff fingers into the tin basin of warm, soapy water, soaking the sponge, and then runs it over her face, squeezing, allowing the water to run downwards over her. Her eyes sting for a moment and the water smarts against the sore, scaly, chapped skin atop the curves of her cheekbones - but the warmth and sweet scent give her pleasure. She can taste the water has mingled with the blood beneath her nose when it slips over her lips; her first nose bleed of the day, and most likely the first of many, now a regular occurrence since her fight with Kylo Ren. As the water drips from her skin back into the basin, it is a saccharine shade of pink.

She rinses the sweat off her brow and arms, and then pats herself dry, running the tips of her fingers over her now clean face, checking she is quite real, assuring herself she is alive and awake in this moment, ensuring she is not irrevocably changed - because that's how it feels. And that is because she feels him.

They are like insects, gently caressing the air with antenna - probing, learning, understanding. She cannot bring herself to reach out, or open herself, but she feels him there now, doing just that. It is as though listening to the sounds of the ocean inside a seashell. She hears and feels mysterious, strange and incoherent noise, secretive, but promising something, full of secrets, full of promises, full - and yet completely empty. It feels like gazing at the surface of a sunlit ocean, placid and quiet, the incomprehensible depths beneath conscious but disregarded, like strange dreams.

With each sensation her flesh ripples reactively, she tenses, clenches the bloomed muscles in her thighs. It has only been three days since General Organa shared her limited knowledge of Force telepathy and Force bonds with her, but Rey feels the link has parasitically tripled in strength since, grown stronger as she has grown stronger, fed from her, sucked her blood. The strength has come from hope. And she wonders if that _does_ mean something.

She shuts her eyes as she brushes out her hair, pushing too hard on her scalp with the teeth of the comb, grinding out the sensations and sounds. It is early, early morning, the sky is a molten chimera of sun-blanched blue. She looks out of her window for a moment, ties her hair at the nape of her neck, and then makes an absent-minded brush of her knuckles against the sticky gauze on her throat. She needs to see a medical droid to clean and sterilise it again, because after thinking and thinking and tirelessly thinking, she is ready. She wants to, needs to, be strong. She needs to fight.

* * *

"I know how I will convince Luke Skywalker," She tells General Organa when she sees her. Leia watches her, tense and agitated, almost predatorily, over a cup of pressed lava-fruit tea, steam curling around her face like smoke signals.

"How?" She asks cautiously, although she already knows.

"Ben Solo," is all Rey says. There is a long pause. Leia's stare does not move as she sips the tea.

"What makes you think that will work?"

Kylo Ren casts a long, opaque shadow over Luke Skywalker, over hope, over his Light. Rey understands how it feels - like sun-blinded eyes searching a dark room. She needs to undo it all - because somehow she feels she can, because the Dark is nothing but a tightly wound knot at the centre. And more so, because she wants it. She has known starving hunger, and she has known how satisfaction feels, and that burns within her like infection, always. She wants to be a Jedi – she doesn't want to be a junker anymore. It was a fate she was willing to accept, but not now – not with such a unique opportunity to change things. The excitement dancing gold on black in Leia's eyes, tells her that she can do this – _must_ do this.

"I think it does mean something," she says finally. "I think it means that you're right. I am the only one that can fight. And I want to. I can change this."

Leia stands up suddenly, and Rey inhales, attempting to compose herself, swallowing a dirty, sandy taste in her mouth. She forces it down. The optimism in Leia's face is like a mouthful of water from a clear, mountain stream.

"You need weapons," she says, and then beckons her forward with her hand as she walks towards the training block.

* * *

She waits in the medial bay for a droid to attend her wound, and is lying in the bed next to another woman, in a brown uniform, a controller's uniform. Her eyes glow out of her like sharply-cut little jewels. She has some sort of lesion to the back of her head, her fair hair is streaked red.

Rey can feel Kylo Ren pushing against her and she reflexively resists – the base of her spine tingles, and the curve at the back of her head spikes with pain. It is starting to frustrate her.

"You're Rey, yeah?" she asks. Rey nods her head. "Hey, I'm glad you're back."

"Not for long," Rey says shortly.

"Oh?"

"I can't really say," Rey shrugs. The girl nods.

"I'm Connix. Lieutenant."

Rey, unimpressed by big words and authority, shakes her hand roughly and then turns away. She has learnt and spoken so many tongues that she knows powerful language means very little.

"You're lucky, y'know, with Finn," Connix says quickly. Rey is suddenly very interested. She turns back to her, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"I just think he's really something. Everything he's been through – that's a _real_ rebel, y'know?"

A cloudy pink colour warms the girl's cheeks. Rey realises she has missed many things in the past few months, and it hits her suddenly, invisible but deep, like a shot from an air rifle. It hurts.

"I'm not his girlfriend, if that's what you're asking me," she retorts.

"No, no! I'm not!" She insists, "I just – I don't know. I wanted to say, he's cool."

"Then say it to Finn," Rey snaps. She realises she might have been hasty. The girl goes quiet, and seems to consider this. She does not speak again. Rey finds herself mindlessly finger-clawing at the bed sheets she's sat on as a droid starts peeling the gauze from her throat.

* * *

"Make sure," Leia adds as Rey loads her final armful of blasters, healing balm and portions into the Interceptor, "that you keep a blaster by that chair." She points to the pilot's seat and then raps her fingers against the wall, considering the space. "Perhaps underneath it might be best, unless there's a little hidey-hole you can find. It's just a good idea, in case you run into trouble. Han wouldn't travel without a few hidden surprises."

It is the first time Leia has said Han's name to her, and Rey visibly flinches, the pain pushing into her precise and neat as a knife. She rubs her arms against the chilly breeze that sighs around them as night draws in. Her nerve-endings are pulsing, alive – the presence of Kylo Ren in the Force keeps her constantly agitated, awake, and the feeling only intensifies when she thinks of Han, her anger opens her to him.

She slits open the brown leather of the chair, with a little more aggression that intended, using a jagged blade she finds in the collection of other useful tools Leia has bought to her. She shucks it back and then stuffs the blaster inside. This Interceptor is old, wise and war-torn – a little ripped leather does not look out of place at all. Leia nods her head once.

"Nice idea," she says. She glances around the ship for a final time, and then settles back on her heels, satisfied. The girl is clever, resourceful, and she trusts a bruising, inherent will to thrive and survive more than anything. "I'll let them know you're leaving."

Rey knows she means _I'll let Finn know._

* * *

Finn comes striding towards her, glittering with sweat in the dark, bestial. He looks her up and down, and up again, and then meets her eyes. He nods to the Interceptor, fuelled up, packed up, ready to leave.

"So it true," he states.

"I don't –"

"No, no, let's just cut the bullshit for a second, shall we?" he snaps. He is broken-hearted, she knows, but she doesn't know why. "You're going away to bring Kylo Ren back to Momma."

Rey doesn't respond – a growl simply curls her lips. She cannot help but aggress an aggressor, it is in her nature. Finn, clearly startled, steps forward, and then lightly brushes the tips of his fingers over the back of her hand. She shudders, and then slowly pulls herself away.

"Rey," he says earnestly. "Don't do this."

"I'm doing this for the good of the Galaxy," she tells Finn. "If there's a chance we could –"

"You see _this_ is where I really lose it, with General Organa," Finn hisses out, and then smacks his foot into the wall, grunting. "Baby Ben, sweet baby Ben Solo, just a _confused_ little Jedi, lost and can't find his way home?" He speaks in a high-pitched, mocking voice. "The lady is delusional. Seriously. _Delusional_."

Rey thinks of General Organa, the dark-eyed soul ablaze with power, the huntress, and shakes her head at him, disappointed. " _Don't_ speak about her like that," she glowers at him. "She knows what she's doing, Finn."

"She's not a _General_ where he's concerned, Rey! Are you _blind_?"

Rey staggers back a little, stunned by Finn's roaring, multicoloured, determined anger.

"She's a _Mother_ , where he's concerned."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't trust her," Rey barks.

"Doesn't it? Not that you or I would know, Rey, but from what I hear, Mother's aren't exactly the most unbiased individuals, where their kids are concerned!"

Rey wants to cry. Nothing hurts more than having a natural birth but caesarean growth.

She just stares Finn down. "I trust General Organa," she says boldly.

"Yeah? Well you're a fool." Finn thrusts his chin upwards at her face and watches her – this is the first time he has not buckled. Rey notices this close his corneas are covered in thin, milky red webs of veins. Bloodshot. He has been crying. "He took me from _my_ family, ripped me out of my parent's arms. But nobody's trying to bring me home, are they?"

His voice suddenly becomes very low, very quiet, and Rey knows he is telling her secrets.

"I wonder about it every day. What they're like. If they're alive – if they think of me," he says softly.

"Finn –"

"No," he interjects. He recognises her pleading tone. His voice then becomes steady, loud, imploring. "General Organa has no idea what this man is like. I'd guess, in fact, she's in total denial. I've seen him murder hundreds of people, Rey. Remorseless. He took me from my family. I have nobody, and nothing, because of him, because of his choices, his side, the First Order. We both watched him murder his own _Father_ – and he looked into his _eyes_ when he did it! He doesn't _deserve_ a chance!"

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, holding in tears. She is confused, jealous, angry, scared.

"Do you have a death wish?" he presses.

"No," Rey answers.

"Then forget this."

"I can't," she says. Even now she can feel him crawling over her, like a small dark insect moving on her skin, making her flinch and itch.

"And what about me?" Finn says, and now Rey knows he has cut himself down to the innocent truth. "What if you get killed, or hurt? What then, huh? What about me?"

Rey thinks of Connix, of his friends here, the acceptance and warmth and brightness that greets him when he enters a room.

"Finn," she tells him, and the honesty makes her throat rattle, "I want to be a Jedi. I don't want to be a Resistance fighter – you and I are – we're hurtling away in different directions. Everyone needs you here, Finn. You have a family."

"I don't –"

"They need you to train them, to help them. You're invaluable. Everyone needs you here."

He looks at her desperately.

"You don't need me, Finn," Rey tells him tenderly. This is the closest proximity she has ever been to another person. His breath pats against her cheeks. His large mouth looks smooth. For a moment, she thinks they might kiss.

Instead, he takes her hand, and holds it gently in his for a moment. "I understand," he says, and his voice trembles. He leaves. Rey watches him go, and then sinks her head into her hands.

Around her, some thick, pungently Dark sensation begins to shudder. The veins in her arms steadily begin to rise out of her flesh, a tangle of violet and blue snaking all over her. She knows he is pressing into her with almost all of his strength – her body now intuitively reacts to it with a thrill, rushes with blood and sweat, lights up her bones. She scratches her arms, disturbed and exhausted.

 _Stop,_ she thinks. _Please, stop._

* * *

He feels her open to him. He can feel her. He swallows. He pushes out into her.

 _Where are you, scavenger?_

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks again everyone for all of the awesome reviews, favourites and follows! It really makes my day and inspires my writing. SORRY FOR THE FINNxREY. BUT I needed it there to destroy. I did say it was a slow-burn. Haha! I promise more Reylo scenes are on their way. Hope everyone enjoyed and let me know what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

"Supreme Leader," he announces. This is the first time he has spoken to Snoke, face to face, in years – he was a young man the last time he looked directly into his eyes. Snoke turns, gracefully, his black cloak rippling against the dark marbled floor. His skin is like cracked white ceramic, and under the light it glows with a strange, silvery lustre. He is almost translucent –he can see fine, frail purple veins spiralling under his forehead, cheeks, chin, throat. He had forgotten how tall he stood. His elongated, Muun features look downwards and deeply at him. He has to tilt his head upwards at a painful angle to look into his eyes. His eyes are like pools of clear liquid, dancing and full of pale movement, magnetic.

"Kylo Ren," he acknowledges him, conversationally. "You requested to see me."

"Yes," he says quickly. "Supreme Leader, I have the location of the Resistance base. The girl, the scavenger – she is currently travelling at light speed out of the Illeenium system."

Snoke regards him carefully, capriciously. Kylo Ren winces beneath his mask. He had forgotten how cold Snoke's stare could be, like a bead of icy water running down the line of his spine. "From who did you acquire this knowledge?"

"From the girl," he states. "It would appear – from what has just occurred – that a Force bond has been ignited successfully."

"Successfully?"

"It was my intention, Supreme Leader," he lies. He will not reveal any weakness to the Supreme Leader again. "I believed our best course of action was to use her abilities to our advantage – if she will not join us then we must exploit her weaknesses. She is untrained, but powerful. She cannot effectively keep me from her thoughts. It unlocks a great deal of potential."

Snoke nods once, heavily. "Yes, Kylo Ren." He gives him a curious, mangled half-smile. "I am pleased. This is an excellent development."

"Thank you, Supreme Leader." His face burns with pride.

"Where is she now?"

"She is travelling to the Outer Rim."

"And where has she been?"

"D'Qar," he answers. "General Leia Organa is there also. I believe it remains the location of the Resistance base."

Snoke turns back and gazes out at the colossal, ragged cliff face before them, blazing red as the sand crashes against it in the breeze.

"The bond will enable us to gain further Resistance intelligence," he continues, hungry for praise after such a humiliation at the girl's hand, humiliation from which Snoke has never truly allowed him to recover, "and limit loss of resources, as searches and battle will not be as necessary. Perhaps it may assist us in negotiations with the girl, also. Though the bond is weak, I am sure she will be more susceptible to persuasion."

"You have done well, Kylo Ren," Snoke offers. He finds a little hum of pleasure emanate from the base of his throat at the words. "I expect she is travelling here?"

"Yes. I believe so."

"Then see to it that she is properly greeted. And strengthen that bond," Snoke orders, and then glances at him sideways, "we must utilise this opportunity."

"Yes, Supreme Leader," he says. He leaves promptly. He does not regret the lie.

He feels her getting closer and closer. It began as distant, almost pleasant warmth, it felt as if ghosting his fingers around a candle flame – but now it is huge, effervescing, rippling the air around him with its pure heat. Everything seems far away and shudders, as though sat on a desert horizon. He finds himself becoming somewhat suffocated by it, but he will not close himself to her – not now that it is an order.

He goes to the lower floor and turns to the nearest Stormtrooper. "Expect a ship within fifteen minutes," he tells the outer circuit patrollers. "It is carrying a captive. Full restraint will be necessary. Be prepared."

"Who is the captive, sir?"

"The pilot," he answers. The Stormtrooper's helmet turns to him swiftly and it appears to be staring, astounded.

"The pilot?"

" _Yes_ ," he says indignantly. "Be prepared."

Then he waits, and watches. Finally an Interceptor glides across the bottomless, scarlet sky. He feels her fear.

* * *

 _Welcome back,_ he presses into her. Rey gulps and begins turning on the security mechanisms of the ship, hurriedly flipping switches. She can feel him moving towards her, as though she is stood in the centre of a great, powerful river, opposing its flow. His movement towards her is a natural, quiet resistance against her skin. It is really quite unnerving – it feels _impossible_.

 _Why are you here?_

Rey snatches up a blaster, and exits the ship. As she leaps out of it and into the sand, she points the blaster out in front of her face, squinting one eye to secure her aim. Two Stormtroopers bolt at her, one with some sort of stunning contraption. She shoots at them almost blindly, misses, and then suddenly she is booted, _hard_ , in the back of her knees. Her whole body crashes onto the ground, she yelps in shock, but then whips around, one knee on the ground, the other sliding up to stabilise her, and fires. The blue bolt from her blaster whirrs and spits as it hits the uniform of the Stormtrooper that kicked her. He falls down, but then she feels the cold push of a blaster gun against her temple, and stalls.

"Stay on your knees, scavenger," the Stormtrooper orders. It is clearly a female.

Kylo Ren comes to her, his dark clothing fluttering around him like huge, black wings. The other Stormtroopers surrounding the base aim at her, and hold their fire. She is surrounded. When Kylo Ren is only a few steps away he commands, "On her feet."

Rey feels the Stormtrooper curl a fistful of her clothing into her hand and hurls her up to her feet, and she gladly complies, although twinges at the pain in her legs. A bruise is already blossoming there, a dark flower.

 _Who sent you?_ He asks her, but it is in her mind. His voice seems as though whispering in her ear, but is emanating from inside of her head. She blinks wildly at the nauseating sensation.

"I don't know how to do that," she says, somewhat defiantly – she does not want to use it for any more than is necessary.

 _Talk?_

"No," Rey growls. "I don't know how to talk to you inside of your head. It's not exactly a common-place method of communication."

The Stormtrooper holding her pointedly looks at Kylo Ren. He is unreadable behind his mask.

 _Think,_ he tells her. _Feel, push the thought out, I will hear it._

She thinks, focusing on allowing the words to leave her like the breath in her lungs. _Nobody sent me_. _You know why I'm here. Because I don't know what's going on_. She feigns meek, curious interest. _I felt something pulling me here._

He takes one single step back and nods at her. _That was my intention._

 _You wanted me to come here?_

"Behind her back," he instructs the Stormtrooper, and Rey feels the soldier expertly bend her wrists backwards, to hook them at the small of her back. Cold metal clicks around them. She can feel it's going to rub sores against the small bones.

 _Will you walk?_ He slips into her.

 _I'll walk,_ she thinks hurriedly.

"Walk her to the east block," he tells the Stormtrooper. "Interrogation room three." And then he asks her, and the tone she feels is strikingly rather gentle, _You will not be restrained unless it is required. Can I take your word that you won't make yet another attempt to escape?_

Rey inspects the mask, again, sees her own eyes reflected in the black surface. She will most definitely try to escape should she feel any harm might come to her. She tells him, _I'm here willingly, aren't I?_

"Restrain only the ankles and forearms," he orders the Stormtrooper. He slides into her mind, _I don't trust you, yet._

* * *

She remembers Leia asking, imploring, "Do you have a plan?"

She thinks of sucking her finger and holding it out, to feel the course of the wind. She thinks of grinding the sand out of her eyes, blinking past the grainy tears, reading a haphazard sundial. She thinks of the sand and the grass and the water and soil speaking to her in strange echoes, as she examined the fragility of the plain. She thinks of the sunlight purifying the sewer water steadily, benevolence the reward or her patience, quenching her, teaching her. The lesson was to wait, listen, watch, persist. Because the answers would break through, bloody, and painful, cutting but useful, eternal – a wisdom tooth.

She is not afraid of unknowing. As the restraints close in on her for the third time, she is finally ready to embrace it all. The Stormtrooper tests the manacles by roughly shaking them. When they do not budge, she leaves, and guards the door to the cell, casually tapping her blaster against her palm. She has confiscated Rey's weapons – all but the small switchblade knife hidden in the tight wrapping against her forearm.

Kylo Ren is again approaching, and again, he is running water rushing and pushing against her legs, her shoulders. She assures herself her teeth with be able to rip through the wrapping if she pulls and bites hard enough. She is still armed.

She sees him in the doorway.

"Guard the cell from the outside. Await further instruction," he commands the Stormtrooper. She steps forward once and then touches her thumb against a print-scanner. The door closes, and he walks to her, and then stops about a metre away from her. Rey watches him, simply. The agonising, throbbing sensation in her spine and the root of her skull finally dulls when he is in the room and they are alone. She finally understands what that means.

"Have you eaten?" he asks.

A frown pinches her forehead. "Eaten?"

" _Yes_ ," he says, and she detects some frustration. "You are no use to me weak."

"How am I meant to eat if my hands are restrained?" she scoffs.

"Just answer the question."

She shuffles on the chair, and then leans back on it heavily, rolling her eyes. "I had water-bread to sustain me during my flight. So, yes. I've eaten."

"Alright," he says. "Now answer me honestly." He steps forward again and Rey feels those cool, powerful waters crashing against her. She sips some air. "Do you know what has occurred?"

She blinks at him softly a few times, and then inhales slowly.

"General Organa told me it – there has been a Force bond forged," she replies. She doesn't think their link is quite strong enough for him to sense deceit, but she avoids it anyway. He nods.

"She is correct." His voice sounds disembodied. She finds herself helplessly reaching for memories of his face. The interest to look into his eyes has now becoming irresistibly compelling. She can look into his mind, but not his eyes, and it feels uncomfortable, almost inhumane. "Why are you here?"

"I _told_ you. I want to understand this." It has, quite quickly, become incredibly difficult to reign in her feelings. She can only just find strength to control herself. Her eyes close and she tilts her head downwards, gulping down that familiar, sour little clot of disappointment and isolation, "I – I feel – I just – I don't know what's _happening_ to me."

"Tell me what's happening," he insists.

She pushes against the restraints, smacking her wrists up and down, up and down. "Will you just get me out of this?" She doesn't like being bound, she feels vulnerable, and exposed. Her mind and her body are open – it's all uncomfortable, everything about this is inhumane. She knows this is rawest and deepest she will ever feel the Force within her, and upon her – and it's too much, it's too heavy; she is choking and drowning in the intensity and intimacy.

"No," he says firmly. "I don't trust you."

"Why not? Look."

 _I just want to learn,_ she thinks to him helplessly. _If I'm no use to you weak, stop weakening me._

He considers her for a moment.

 _You are not weak._

 _I am unarmed. I am alone. I am tired. I am – I'm frightened._ She presses into him, and she does tangibly feel him take in her feeling. _I came to you; I am here, requesting an audience with you. I am willing to co-operate. Of course I'm in the weaker position._

"I just want to _talk_ to you," she says aloud. She is pleading with him, ever so slightly, but she doesn't care. "I'm sure you remember this, it must have happened to you too at some point – I don't know what to do with all of these feelings."

"And how do I know this isn't Resistance foul-play, scavenger?"

"You don't know that," Rey tells him, her eyes flitting around over the surface of his mask, "but I do. I don't know how to – how do I –"

He takes her meaning and raises a gloved hand before her face. And she feels a careful push into her mind, a little sting of pain – it is a paper-cut, insignificant, small, but breaking her enough to make her bleed profusely. He has opened a vein of thought, and he drinks. The memory of leaving Finn, of his final words to her, ' _Do you have a death wish?'_ curls her stomach. She sees herself telling him _'No'_. He says, ' _Then forget this_.' She says ' _I can't_.'

He says out loud, "FN-2187 doesn't speak too highly of his commanding officers, does he?"

He seems amused, somewhat. She clenches her teeth.

Rey says insolently, "General Organa is his commanding officer now, not you."

"He's a traitor," he says quietly. "I'd pay no attention to which side he chooses to align himself. He is a _traitor_. So who's to say he won't betray the Resistance, and the Light, and the great General Organa herself?"

Rey simply hisses at him, "His name is Finn!"

He pauses, watches her for a moment. Then he says, "Who's to say he won't betray _you_?"

His words are poignant; the deeper meaning weighs them down. They press on top of her head excruciatingly – she stands frozen and straining, a caryatid, bearing her pain silently. He has clearly sensed her feelings for Finn – her fondness of him. It feels like broken glass in her mouth. Now he knows her this way, and can _feel_ her this way, her thoughts are his thoughts, and so he knows what will hurt – and he knows that to her, a betrayal, where Finn is concerned, is not about the Light or the Resistance. It's about his heart.

"Especially _now_ ," he says.

Rey snarls, and goes to retort, but then she halts.

"What difference does any of this make?" she demands. But she thinks she already knows the answer – and she wonders if she is committing, unbeknownst to herself, the same kind of betrayal.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you everyone for all of the delicious reviews, favourites and follows! It means so much, and really inspires me, so thank you. Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter – please let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

He is afraid of her.

The Light he feels from her washes over him like the tender colour of sunlight, like a warm ocean lapping against his skin. It near-sedates him, soothes him, he is practically bathing in that bright, eerie munificence. The waves of it, as they flow over him, submerge him, and it feels like dying, and drowning, he's dying; but when he breathes again, when he inhales, it feels like being reborn. And he is reborn screaming, starving, confused, blinded, bloody. He yearns for the comfort of darkness again.

"Let's stop this, now. We have no secrets from each other."

She looks completely appalled. He continues to hold his demeanour upright, muscles tensed, alert.

"I know how strong you are. I'm not a fool, scavenger. Don't treat me like one."

"I'm not."

"Aren't you? You are not afraid. Really, quite to the contrary –" Something glitters in her mind again and again, panicked – cool metal, sharp.

"Yes." He concludes. He steps closer to her, and he snatches out for her and pushes her shoulder down, hard, against the back of the chair. His brachial pulse is surging with terror, life, but it is _only_ in his right arm. His body is mimicking hers, he knows.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

"You are not afraid at all," he says. She is, but only just, and he is irked by this. There is another silvery flash in her mind. He notices the fingers of her right arm flexing, curling. Silver is in her mind again. He tears away the gauze-like coverings on her arm, at the exact point he feels his own arm surging painfully.

There is a small switchblade knife wrapped within the material. He takes it out, flips it around in his fingers. He looks at her.

"You were still _armed_."

Rey stares back at him incredulously, blinking, disparaging, disbelieving.

"How –"

"You are strong, but you have no control." There is a glossy, red groove in her arm, where the hilt has bitten into her inner elbow. "I could sense it. You cannot keep secrets here. Not unless you learn how."

He places the knife on the table – it is poised and ready, and turned towards her, and it's as though it's saying _you make your own monsters_.

Her eyes flit from his mask to the knife, and back again, and then down to her arm, raw and searing with pain. She says finally, meekly, "I don't trust you either, after all."

He nods. "Sensible," he says. "But I don't like liars."

Outraged that he might attempt to scold her, Rey snaps, "I don't like _murderers_."

"Then what a predicament we are in," he says carefully. It's really quite amusing. He likes seeing her helpless. He wonders if his appetite for revenge against this girl with ever be sated.

"We're not going to get anywhere like this," she insists. She looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Don't you agree?"

Whilst he agrees, he is unsure how to manoeuvre around it, and so he says nothing, he simply watches her. She looks back at him quite innocently. Her eyes are like large green fruits. After a moment, she speaks again.

"You will release me, and you will tell me everything you know about the Force."

Steadily, a wonderful feeling flows over him, and fills him. It is like hearing the sound of a beautiful strain of music, or a delicious smell floating by, or catching a sweet, cool raindrop on the tip of his tongue. It's infinitesimal, but for a moment it bathes his entire universe in pleasure, in goodness. He thinks _I will release –_

Her eyebrows flit up into her forehead in shock, and it feels like a pinch on the wrist – it's a small pain that removes all pleasure, and he can suddenly feel something curling around him, eerie and translucent like smoke. He jolts back and snarls at her, "How _dare_ you." He pushes back against her influence, feeling it now breeding and multiplying and like gnats in his head.

Rey's face sinks. She winces.

"A Jedi mind trick?" he seethes. "You're playing a _dangerous_ game, scavenger. That's not fighting fair."

She scowls at him. He wants to enjoy this – he wants her powerless. He wants another victory. He doubts will ever be satisfied – the more revenge he gets, the greater his appetite for it. He wants to devastate her.

"But that, you see, is what renders your victories so inconsequential. They are of such little merit. And that's because you have not, to my knowledge, _ever_ fought _fairly_ , have you?"

As he hoped, she reacts to this, savagely. She shucks up in the chair, and her upper lip slides back so expertly it is animalistic in its nature, it's a starving beast's grimace. She reveals her teeth, and her jaw sets, and her eyes are dogged on him and wide with fury.

"And did _you_ , fight fairly? Did you fight fairly when you _slaughtered_ your own Father, after you lured him to his death with false hope?!" she bellows. Memories of Han Solo twinkle in her mind like wind chimes, singing when the chilling wind of her emptiness blows through her.

Somehow he wishes he could feel the same.

Nonetheless, he is staggered by her passion – her rage is all-consuming, aching, huge with brute-strength, a thirst for blood, fed on loneliness and resentment. It's appealing – it's potent, _powerful_.

"Yes," he finds himself whispering, mesmerised. The Supreme Leader seemed never to falter.

That strength is something he instantaneously wishes to harness, more than he had ever before. It is really unlike anything he has felt – and perhaps the link had intensified it to his senses, but it did not matter.

Her body wracks with her heavy breath. "On second thoughts, I'd rather live not knowing, than have to spend another minute in your presence," she hisses. Her hatred makes their bond a weird, revolving door – he is being taken in and suddenly pushed out. He cannot get any real purchase on her thoughts.

"Then you came here for nothing," he tells her.

"I came here to be beaten, imprisoned, and bullied, apparently," she growls. "Why call me here, if this was what you had planned? What can I possibly learn, and what can you possibly gain, from this situation?"

"You want to learn?" he asks, a spike of exhilaration in his chest.

"Yes," she says, gruffly. "I came here to understand what this means. I thought that's what you planned. This is nothing to do with the Resistance – though General Organa does know. I am not their ally. This is _personal_. Like I told you."

He considers her for a moment. If she begins to pose any significant risk, or he feels this has any affliction with Resistance movement, he will kill her. He pries and probes – but her mind is full only of anger, and also something else – apprehension, excitement.

He says, "Then you are accepting my offer?"

"I'll never – not completely. You're the only person left that knows anything else, that's why I'm here."

"Fine," he says. "I am willing to teach you, if you pledge political and military loyalty to the First Order."

She eyes him, mistrustful.

"What does that entail?"

"You will not contact any member of the Resistance. You will not assist any Resistance movement. You will provide me with all intelligence on the Resistance that you have. You will not leave this station. You –"

"I'm asking if I'm going to have to murder people, or hurt people. I will not do that. I _refuse_."

"That will not be involved," he says, although he remembers his first years with Snoke, when the contemplation of death and killing still knotted his stomach and repulsed him, when he was naive, a child. He thinks she will in turn change her mind.

"Alright," she says. He slides off his glove, pushes the print scanner with his thumb, and the restraints click open. She is free. She steps towards him.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favourites/follows! It really means a lot. If you could take the time to review with any feedback, it'd be greatly appreciated! Hope everyone enjoyed.**


	9. Chapter 9

"Well?"

She cocks an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest, expectant, almost condescending. He doesn't like that. He stands and stares at her.

"What should I do?" she probes.

He wonders if she has sensed his irritation. Her foot flips upwards, poised to step back. He can somehow sense her mouth is dry, and full of acidic flavour. Reflexively, he rolls his tongue over his upper lip. She had clearly eaten nothing but dry portions on her way here. By the minute the link is getting wider, and vaster, they are both deltas splitting to a river breaking into an ocean.

"What did you think this would be, a short lecture?" He scoffs. "It's _training_. It will take you a great number of years to harness your power. This will be a steady process."

"How long did it take you, then?"she asks, and he is initially rattled by her asking him such a personal question, and one which might give her a way of ascertaining his weakness. When he looks at her, however, her smile is a little sly, but there is a genuine curiosity in her, a kind of stupidity, that he finds very endearing for someone so dangerous. Innocent danger, like a hungry baby Anzat. She is so inexperienced she is almost oblivious – and it is good. She is _malleable_. He decides he will answer her.

"Fifteen years, approximately."

"Fifteen _years_?" she asks incredulously, her eyes flickering all over his face, apparently searching for some expression. "How _old_ are you?"

Now he feels her thoughts again. But strangely these thoughts, when she is truly panicked, begin to alternate language. She speaks in tongues in her head. He recognises _Gamorrese_ , but the rest, he does not know. Her thoughts of FN-2187 garble and blubber, some phrases in _Bocce_. It disorientates him greatly – perhaps was not raised speaking _Basic_? He is intrigued. He knows, despite definitive comprehension, that she is remembering seeing his face for the first time, and her disbelief at his relative youth.

He does not answer her this time, he simply turns and begins walking towards the entrance of the cell. He needs to get out of here – the lack of space between them feels like a lack of air and he cannot continue to allow himself to drown.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"You need medical assessment. I need assurance you are fit to train. I have several individuals I need to inform of this development, also. I will escort you to the medical bay and I will return when you are required."

He binds her wrists again before they leave.

* * *

The wound on her throat is burning again – she had run out of antiseptic balm during her flight, after having generously laved it over before sleeping one evening. Her pain is measured through talking, sense, touch, rather than numerical scales and thermo scans. It is personal. And she doesn't know if that's good – intimacy in conjunction with pain is something she is not accustomed to, and something she feels the staff may gain something from – and not just in the way of employment, also pleasure. There is something a little sadistic in the clear, pale blue of the woman's eyes that rove over her throat. As Rey hisses with pain, her upper lip quirks. Her uniform is beautiful, pristine, and the lapels of her black dress are so neatly pressed they look like machete blades.

"Have you taken any analgesic medication in the past twenty-four hours?" she asks, and she sounds like a droid.

"Analgesic?" Rey asks, confused.

"Pain-killers."

"No," Rey answers, "I only use the balms."

The woman appears a little jumpy around her. She repeatedly glances down to look at her hands, and avoids direct eye contact with her.

"Are you aware of any pain anywhere else? Any other concerns?"

"No," Rey answers. "My head hurts, but –"

"I have already been informed it's quite natural to experience headaches in your – in such a condition."

She feels her face flush, and in her reflection she sees her cheeks have become a translucent rose colour. She rolls her eyes, infuriated. She wonders how many others here know about this bond.

"Have you ever seen anyone else like this?" she presses. The medical attendant glares at her, at her mouth rather than her eyes, contemptuous.

"It is rather unique."

She is interested to know what he is telling others – if he is giving her the truth. She asks, "What did Kylo Ren say about it?"

"He did not speak directly to me," the woman answers, and Rey surveys her, feeling a little fiendish, and disliking this woman vehemently for being one of them, for working for blood money.

She is quiet for a moment, and then whispers, her eye boring into the side of the woman's face, and tasting the cloying, gritty alkaline taste of antiseptic on the cut on her lip, "Are you scared of me?"

"I have an injection of cleanly drawn soporific drug in my belt."

Rey takes it as a _yes._ She grins to herself – part of her is enjoying this. She sees, from the way they act, in their dark clothing with washed, steel expressions, that everyone here is afraid of Kylo Ren. They imagine his face pale as death beneath his mask, because the very fibre of life yields under his fingers. Knowledge of her link to him makes her intimidating, she realises this. She feels him coming again, stood in the middle of his rushing river.

The doors of the bay open and he walks in, his strides long. He stops at her bed, looks her up and down, and then turns to her attendant.

"Results?"

"Medically fit, sir," she answers, "however the laceration will need re-dressing every forty-eight hours."

"Fine," he says. Rey very quickly feels emotion gushing from him and into her face, it smacks her and shocks her, hits her like wet sand in the face, abrasive and powerful. She realises the feeling is pride, pride and exhilaration. "Come," he tells her, and gestures for her to get up. She stands. He begins walking towards the exit.

"Why are you so happy?" she demands.

Strangely, he does not refuse to answer her.

"This is a good development. Helpful. I am glad you have made this decision."

"I'm not going to help you," she snarls. "I only said I'd have no contact with the Resistance."

The doors slide open and the walk into a large corridor. He gestures for her to turn right, and she follows him. He takes her through another set of doors, all glimmering and polished black. Behind them, it appears to be another row of holding cells, or interrogation rooms. He opens the door to one room, however, and it has a narrow bed inside.

"We have been generous enough to provide you with living quart –"

"Did you not hear me?" she interjects, and if she had not been restrained, she would have punched his shoulder. "I'm not doing this – I will have _nothing_ to do with any of your plans, I want nothing outside of knowledge."

"You misunderstand," he says, and again that disembodied voice makes her cringe slightly. "I have been waiting to find someone to train for a long time. Sensitivity to the Force in your calibre is rare."

"You're not my Master," she snaps. "I don't want that. I never really wanted a Master."

She remains outside of the threshold of the room, though he beckons her to walk inside and inspect it. "Scavenger, I could not be your Master yet, even if you desired it. I have not yet completed my training."

"Then what?" she urges.

"It is an informal apprenticeship," he says, and it is weird, but she recognises a soft tone though it is distorted. "For now, anyway." He sounds smug.

"Last time you spoke with that much confidence, I overpowered you, so don't try it," she grunts at him, propelling into anger, remembering the first time she broke that barely tangible dark surface of his mind, and felt his fear, moving through her like smoke in her lungs.

"And the last time _you_ spoke with that confidence, I cut your throat," he counters.

Rey glares at him. Somehow these threats are becoming a custom, a comfortable reflex.

"Can I not just sleep in my ship?"

"If you would prefer it," he agrees, "but I highly doubt that's more accommodating."

"Will I be able to sleep alone? No cuffs, no guards?"

"Yes," he answers. "If you are to accept my teachings, there is a greater level of trust required. I am aware of this, scavenger, but I'm sure you understand my trepidation."

"Yeah," she nods. She does understand. There is a tension, and an intensity, ricocheting between them – they are both still poised to attack and it is thrilling. "Trust is earned though, isn't it?"

"So you will remain in your restraints?"

"So you will you address me without that mask?" she retaliates. He nods his agreement. She hears it hiss, some sort of oxygenating device, and then he pulls it up over his head and holds it under his arm.

She looks at his eyes, heady and shimmering, and the aching at the root of her brain stops, _immediately_. She is filled with a pleasurable kind of stillness. All of the agony, the pulling, the twisting, the crackles of pain, the burning in her chest, the smoke in her lungs, the great river, the choking, the drowning, the desperation – it's all gone. She takes in a breath and she can feel it come into her, feel its cold on the tip of her nose, the rush through her lips. The quiet emptiness she feels isn't like a black, desolate night on Jakku, scratching and sweating – it is peace. She thinks of the ocean she imagined, the little island of hope, the wordless talk of the sea, taking her in, taking her in, silent and dark and beautiful. Everything seems to come _into_ her.

He seems stunned, too. He blinks at her slowly, tips his chin upwards, regards her curiously.

She whispers, "That's better."

He doesn't say anything, but she knows he agrees.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much for all of the lovely reviews/favourites and follows! It means so much, and it always makes my day.**

 **In response to Nina: Whilst I'm totally aware Rey has brown (or hazel) eyes, I particularly enjoyed the scenes of Takodana in the film, where her eyes reflected light back as a greenish colour. Very pretty. Hence, where they might seem green, I'm milking it! Haha. And thank you so much for your review.**

 **Hope everyone enjoys this update. I will likely be a little slower how as i have a huge dissertation to write. Please let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

"What is that?" she asks. "Or - _this_."

He stares at her for quite a long time, and his eyes gradually grow wider and a frown begins to press dark lines on his forehead. She cannot stop looking at him, despite the evident horror he is feeling - the _disgust_ in himself, that this is happening, that he is allowing it to happen. The eyes, his eyes, which had once been so much like Leia's, which once seemed quite empty and black, are different all of a sudden. They are excruciatingly magnetic, enticing, she wants to look at them forever. The sensation is similar to that of pulling and spitting out milk-teeth (she remembers her saliva and little round bit of bone in the sand one morning) - she is suddenly garishly aware of a bleeding, empty place inside of her, a place that she can search with her tongue and her mind, a place that she didn't know had truly been there all along, waiting to reveal itself, a gaping hole waiting for bone to begin crowning through a well of blood.

"What's _happening_?" she whispers, and the words are wrenched right from the back of her throat, from that empty place.

She sees the skin of his throat roll as he swallows. He looks mortified, utterly repulsed, immobilised. He does not stay anything, he just stands there, staring, almost _glowering_ , at her. Finally, he involuntarily snarls and moves to put the mask back on.

"What are you doing?" she demands. She doesn't want to look at it anymore, she wants _this_.

She reaches out to push his arm down. But then she feels him relinquish control to something - whatever it is that he's feeling .

" _No_!" he seethes.

She sees him sweep his hand aggressively through the air, very close to her face, and she goes shooting back into the room behind her, having been too mesmerised to guard herself. She smacks against the wall, shouting out, but scrabbles up to her feet as quickly as she can, her shoulders hot with budding bruises. As soon as she is standing, he is holding out a hand out in front of him, fingers stretching, poised to attack her again.

"Do _not_ move," he commands. She obeys, holding her stance, but not her tongue.

" _Why_ did you do that? I didn't do anything wrong."

He is looking at her in shock and in pain, rather than hatred, and she doesn't understand that. He stands there panting.

When he doesn't answer, she is hurt. She barks, regardless of his silence, "I thought this was supposed to be about _trust_? Take me to my ship. _Now_. I can't stand being in your presence any longer."

"Alright," he says.

With his right hand still stretched out to her, he then squints and flings his other arm out to the left. She feels the Force thrumming and grasping around him, and a Stormtrooper hurtles down the corridor, his toes grinding against the floor in his boots. His throat claps up into Kylo Ren's gloved hand, and she hers him gasping behind his helmet.

"Take the girl to the ship she arrived in," Kylo Ren orders. He releases the Stormtrooper and he steps back, taking a moment to settle himself.

"Yes, sir," he finally answers.

Rey steps forward, but Kylo Ren glares at her and shakes his head.

"No. I can't risk that." He makes a soft curling motion with his fingers, and she feels her head rock back and eyes slide shut and she is frozen in the black ice of sleep.

He holds her, with the Force, asleep and adrift in the air for a moment. The energy causes her hair to steadily roll and curl around her face, as though she is lying serene and submerged in deep water. He finds he can easily suspend her in the air and so finally relaxes. Now that she cannot argue, and cannot test him, and cannot suffocate him with her white, seraphic Light, he has nothing to fear once more. He looks at the Stormtrooper and nods to the eerily floating body of the girl.

"Carry her," he instructs. The Stormtrooper nods and hurls her up over his shoulder. He cannot touch her again. Despite the revulsion of it all, being in such close proximity to her had been very pleasurable - his hands still feel boneless from the odd _relief_ of looking at her face. He feels confused and naive for the first time in what feels like forever.

He remembers being a young boy, struggling in his padawan years, being the slowest, the last to achieve and attain each objective of training, because channelling the Light had been such a _struggle_. Each time it was like trying to focus a single ray of sunlight through a magnifying glass - so delicate, and so thankless. The Dark was not like that, power rushing to him in orgasmic, thunderous waves. How good it had felt, how naturally it came to him, embraced him. He had not known powerless confusion since. He is afraid of it.

"The ship is in the secure hangar, it's on lock-down," he tells the Stormtrooper. "It's an Interceptor. Put her on the bed, guard her, and await further instruction."

He walks in the opposite direction, towards the Supreme Leader's headquarters, because now he needs support, he needs guidance - he needs _help_. He trusts the Supreme Leader more than anyone. More than himself.

* * *

When he is almost there he hears Hux calling to him - and he knows he takes such satisfaction from the evident unease he feels that, in his boots, his toes curl a little.

"Ren!"

He keeps walking, focusing on too many things - holding the girl in sleep, on her whereabouts, on the Supreme Leader, on controlling his temper.

"Where are you _going_?" Hux demands. "There is a security alert on the prisoner. You're supposed to be managing the situation!"

He cannot focus enough to channel the Force. He grinds his teeth, and feels the tell-tale little nerve in his jaw jumping and pounding. He can feel the bewilderment rising violently, _surging_ , into anger, and he is losing control over it. He is sweating profusely and the muscles in his legs are beginning to knot and hurt he's striding so quickly.

"On your head be it, Ren!" Hux hollers to him, a slight smile following. Kylo Ren bites on his tongue to suppress his instinct to lash out. He keeps walking.

He enters the conference room where the Supreme Leader awaits him. He regards him silently. The scars on his countenance are like valleys and craters, full of ancient pain, a white, barren, desolate landscape, the cliff face from which he has fallen, fallen to burning darkness.

"Kylo Ren," Supreme Leader Snoke greets him. "You are troubled."

"The girl is becoming unmanageable," he says, unsure of how he can explain himself. He notices at this point that he has regained strength in his hands and fingers. When he looked at her he had been aching to get away, but now he cannot see her, he _aches_ to once again, and he _hates_ it.

"The strength of this bond that you share?" The Supreme Leader asks. He regards him with clear, steady eyes that bruise. His eyes are cruel. He already knows his failing.

"Stronger, Supreme Leader. Much stronger. But it is not like anything I have experienced."

He is tied to several sentitives through his veins - they are knotted and bound. But the Scavenger is different. The _effect_ is different.

"Kylo Ren, you know well now how one resists the pull of the Light. You must see that it evanesces."

He knows he is consumed by the Dark. Screams don't ring out in his ears anymore. He says, "I do not -"

"In the _girl_ ," The Supreme Leader interjects. "It is necessary that she feels the power the Dark side can give her. You must educate her, as I have you. If successful I am sure you will find this bond far more bearable. You must learn what she desires most, and you must present it to her. You must show her how she can attain it, offer her something that she cannot otherwise posses."

"But she wishes to become a Jedi," he says, mystified. That _is_ her desire, he has seen it in her. He had only walked the Jedi path for one year, and he has gradually forgotten the shape of the that road - he could never offer her a path to the Light.

"And that is what she desires _most_?"

And then he knows. He remembers her thoughts from childhood. He thinks of her starless skies, her harrowing hunger, her tears, her little eyes sore from a sandstorm, her little voice calling out in half-sleep _"Mama, Mama,"_ over and over, _"Mama, Mama, don't leave me alone!"_

* * *

Rey wakes jaggedly, her feet skittering on the mattress to push herself up to sit - having fought the cold, black sleep for such a great amount of time she is dazed and rabid. Kylo Ren stands a few paces away from her, his mask tucked in the crook of his arm.

Rey looks desperately to the control panel of the ship and sees a little red light blinking, a little flash of doom. The hyperdrive compartment has been compromised, as has the compressor, it warns. She swallows, nervous, angered, feeling her eyes grow wild.

"I'm leaving," she tells him, ignoring the hypnotism of his eyes, ignoring the pleasurable fullness she feels from his presence. She scoots back on the bed and swings herself off it.

He laughs, but it appears out of more anger than amusement, and it is a strange sound. "We have already removed the hyperdrive and compressor," he tells her gently.

"I'll fix it," she snaps. She glowers up at him and for the first time is truly aware of how tall he is ( _much_ taller than Han).

"They were both destroyed hours ago."

Rey whips around and stares at him. He gazes back at her intently, and then places his mask down on the bottom of the bed. He does not seem like his usual self, that black, looming, inhuman, unyielding figure.

He says conversationally, "You're welcome to stay here, but this ship is now a flightless bird."

She finds herself sagging where she stands, like a sand timer steadily emptying, weighing heavy on her lower half. She doesn't know why she is disappointed, why she expected anything else - suddenly she sees the red blade reflecting in Han's eyes again, dancing, and she hangs her head.

Rey closes her eyes, attempting to release her anger into the colourless nothingness behind her eyes, like those Jakku skies.

 _Always starless,_ he says in her mind - and again it initially nauseates her, having no real source of sound, potentially emitting from her ear, her mind, her own throat. _Why think of that, when it just hurts?_

"You don't know anything about me," she rasps. "So just stop it."

 _I can see into your mind, Scavenger, I'm not making presumptions._

"Stop it," she repeats, a low groan ripping from the back of her throat. She cannot tell if he is attempting to inflict pain or provide comfort. She stares at him. His eyes are glittering at her. There's never a starless night in there, she thinks to herself - and then recoils and tries to escape that awful thought.

"I am sorry that we have to do this," he says, and he seems sincere. "It's all precautionary."

He watches her. His frown smoothes, and he looks down at the floor for a moment - she tries to feel, with her new muscle, for what exactly has come into his head, but there is nothing there but a strange feeling of oneness - as though touching her fingers against her reflection on the glass of a mirror.

"With time," he continues, "I am sure things will improve. You will prove yourself to be a good apprentice to me, trustworthy, and I will then have no reservations about giving you freedom."

"Is this not enough?" she barks. "I came here to you to ask you for help, I want to be here."

"You want to be here," he says. He seems different. He is sat on the pilot's chair, but is straddling it, sat on it backwards, with his two long arms folded on the headrest, resting his chin on them. He relaxes into the chair by leaning forward. He says, "Alright."

"What?" she demands, looking at him sat in the chair, a little unsettled by his ease. He is so tall that though he is sat down, he is at eye height with her.

"We'll begin, then."

"Training?"

"Yes," he answers. He gestures to the bed with a gentle hand. "Sit."

Rey resents taking his orders, but she curiously obliges him. She admires the light lulling through his hair. He tilts his head to the left slightly, inspecting her like young, hungry animal.

"Tell me what you want to learn," he suggests.

"Everything," she says instantly. It's true - she wants to be the hero, a saviour, a somebody. She wants to learn everything about him, too, she realises - she wants to understand what binds them, why the Force would steer her to him, what the truth of it all is. She has faith in the Force. She trusts it more than anyone. More than herself.

He smiles at her. His smile is lopsided, half-hearted. It's just like Han's. She shifts uncomfortably. Now he is sat in a pilot's chair, smiling, she realises just how much he resembles his father.

"Ambition is good," he agrees. "And you can achieve it. You will be very powerful. You want to learn, and I want to teach."

Rey feels excited by his words. She wants it. And no-one has ever really _wanted_ anything from her before - or wanted _her_. She believe he is sincere. She feels it, around them the Force is humming, but she can't tell if it's in pleasure or pain.

"Nothing specifically, though?"

"I want to learn how to levitate things," she says, and then reflexively licks her lower lip as she considers what she might learn that would best allow her to protect herself against him, and protect others. "I want to learn how to enter people's minds. I want to learn how to defend against it, too."

"You're afraid of that," he states. She knows it is not a question.

"It's - it's very inconvenient," she says.

"You won't be able to prevent it to much effect between us," he counsels her. "With others, yes. But this is very different. It takes a great deal of effort."

"How is it different?" she asks.

There is a pause. "Use your feelings," he tells her. Rey reaches out, and she feels.

He has opened his mind to her now and the link is wide and bare, and she feels all huge, crashing, turbulent rivers, the rivers of his thoughts. They are all splitting into deltas, hundreds of thin, bleeding currents, hundreds of thoughts, all running to the same place. They run to a mouth, which opens to an ocean. Her ocean. The waves break and fall, and he feels all of her, and she feels all of him.

"That's why it's different," he says after a moment. Rey somehow knows exactly what it means though words are going unspoken, explanations are being unexplored, her heart feels quickly unfulfilled.

This _isn't_ what she should be feeling.

"And," he adds, appearing somewhat shaken by the revelation and exhausted from the result, "entering a mind is a Dark side discipline."

In truth, she does not consider it for long. She will learn.

She reassures herself that she doesn't want darkness - that this isn't falling to darkness. She reassures herself that _Leia_ would want this, Leia wants her to try, Leia wants her to use almost any means necessary. She reassures herself that ultimately, she might find a away to Ben Solo through this, and if she does, she will be a Jedi - this will all be worth it in the end, she will be rewarded tenfold.

It will be a rainstorm in the desert, and those dark clouds will pour with life.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much to all those that read and reviewed, as well as favourited and followed. It means so much and it's been inspiration in a pretty difficult time. Hope everyone enjoyed and please let me know what you think!**

 **ALSO YES I CHANGED THE TITLE. Just found something I thought sounded better!**


	11. Chapter 11

She requests to sleep in the ship, and he allows this. She isn't sure where his quarters are, but they must be far away. There is only a dull, almost satisfying, pulsation at the root of her head now – it feels as though she has accidently looked directly into the sun. Her eyes are full of silent, colourful pain.

She sighs turns in the cot, the woven blanket flapping against her shoulder. Sleep will not come. The little red light winks at her, almost flirtatious, almost mocking – _Hyperdrive Compromised_. She grinds her teeth. Whilst she does not wish, for even one moment, to escape, she does wish she had the option. She thinks of Luke Skywalker, with his magical hopeful eyes, and somehow in this dark little ship in this darker hangar, she hates him. She hates Luke Skywalker. He has ruined everything. He has abandoned her, abandoned everyone. _There is no Light_ – his words fill her head, ring out like a ritual, a curse, they are somehow becoming a mantra. She is angry, left again nothing but a child, deaf and blind, struggling to survive, completely alone.

The more she considers Kylo Ren, and his offer, and his teachings, the less fear and guilt she feels. This is what she _wants_ , she realises. She wants to be strong and powerful. The Force beckons her to it, after all, binds her and beckons her, and it _becomes_ her.

 _It is almost morning, Scavenger. Sleep._

She gasps a little and jolts up to sit, blinking into the darkness, his voice apparently sliding directly into her through her ear. But there is no movement. She lies back down, swallowing a sour taste in her gullet, pushing her initial terror into her stomach.

 _I am cold,_ she pushes out. It is difficult to focus on placing language and meaning into his head now that he is not close. But she reaches for the ache, for the pain, and feels the source, the warm place where it begins – it is not in the ship, but somewhere above her. It feels like grazing her fingers over a wound, breaking soil to feel the roots of a tree – it's numinous and powerful. She knows where he is, now, she feels where he is.

 _I offered you living quarters._

 _If you want to sleep, then stop talking to me,_ she bites at him.

 _You are projecting._ Incessantly _. It sounds like constant babbling in my ear._

She is unsure how to retaliate.

 _We will work on that first thing,_ he tells her. Rey huffs, and her breath clouds ghostly white in the air around her. She taps her fingers against her drawn up knee and gazes at the ceiling. She used to imagine an ocean, at this point – but the gravity pulling those waves is no longer the comfort of sleep. Now, it is the confusion of Kylo Ren. Her alternative method, during those sleepless nights on Jakku, something to soothe and exhaust her body and mind, had been very different, because she imagined more than just an _ocean_. She imagined –

Suddenly she feels an awful, punishing numbness, it's blank but painful and it cripples her thoughts – it feels like pins and needles inside of her mind. She hisses and rubs her temples immediately, sitting up on the bed, breathing through her teeth.

He pushes a thought into her.

 _Don't._

"What?" she asks the empty, black ship that she lies in. Strangely, he can apparently understand her.

 _Don't do that._

"Do what?" She snaps. She does not quite have the ability to focus to project her thoughts to him, this feeling is white noise.

 _What you were considering a moment ago._

She makes a squeaking noise when she realises he has heard her thinking about those hot, exhausted nights – about touching herself on those nights, about keening and writhing and finally sating herself and drifting into a thick sleep. She realises further that she may never be able to do such a thing and be truly alone. She wonders if it will be the same for him – will she know if he – _why_ is she thinking along these lines?

She clutches her head and groans. He lifts the strange sensation out of her head, and she exhales gratefully.

 _I apologise,_ she sends to him, and she does mean it – this situation is far too intimate, intimidating, incomprehensible, as it is. This will do nothing but exacerbate the problem.

 _Yes,_ he responds finally. Then he slips into her, _if you need help sleeping, I can put you to sleep._

 _I don't want any medical –_

 _No,_ he interjects her very thought, and the feeling feels as though, for a moment, a thread in her soul as been cut and her teeth have fallen out and her tongue has fallen down her throat. She is completely immobilised. It feels as though looking straight ahead, stood on foggy train tracks. He says, _I can place you into sleep. If you don't resist it's quite simple. I need sleep. It's mutually beneficial._

She nods to the empty room, and then pushes the tiny round button to turn on the lights in the cockpit. They are sweet and orangey-coloured, old. She blinks at adjust her eyes, and then she sends to him, _Yes, alright then._

Rey can feel him getting closer. She knows when he is in the hangar. A sensation fills her, like cool water washing over a burn. She shakes her head at it, _exhausted_ but now completely stimulated by his presence. It's not pleasure that she's feeling, it's simplistic relief – she tips her head back and stares at the ceiling for a moment, grinding her nails against the skin of her knees. She is completely confounded by it all. But now she is far too tired to fight.

She has turned off the ship's locking mechanism ready for him, and so he walks inside. Something about this feels very secret, almost nice. She has never had a person come to her when she cannot sleep, someone to soothe her, or sing, the way Mother's did during sandstorms on Jakku. Sometimes, during those storms, she had longed to brave the crazed, dark swirling outside of the metal belly she slept in to crawl into one of the tents, where there was a Mother, where there would be some comfort to sink in through the strange freezing heat, where she might be kissed, where she might be cared for – Jakku was so empty, but the face of a child with a Mother seemed so full.

When he enters the ship she clears her throat and dips her head to look at her knees.

* * *

The first thing he realises is that the tips of her hair are still singed, and black. It floats above her knees. She is barely clothed. A piece of beige material lies over her shoulders, just covering her body to the upper thigh. Her kneecaps are scaly, and rough, her feet coarse and flaky and reddened. She has a scar running across the top of her calf, in a strange 'L' shape. Scavenging has made her hard, and tough, and abrasive, and brittle – and that, he assumes, is deeper than just to the touch. He is curious. He pushes forward through the Bond. She's thinking about children on Jakku, children unable to sleep, or waking from nightmares.

He knows these feelings too well. He realises he has never done this _for_ someone before, however. But he affirms this is because _he_ needs to sleep, because this serves him well.

"Thank you," she says quickly, and then looks him directly in the eye. He steps closer to her. She is hairy, he notices. Not grotesquely so – it almost looks like prepubescent hair, and he realises this is because she has likely never shaved it, any of it, and therefore it has never regrown. The hair on her legs and arms is somewhat long, but very, very fine and golden. It looks soft. He watches as a few hairs on her arms curl upward towards the sky in anticipation, like thousands of tiny insect antennae.

"I need to sleep," he says, nonchalant.

"I know," she says quietly. "Do you want to sit down?" She swings her legs off the bed and makes room for him.

"No," he says quickly. He wants as little time with her as possible – the greater expanse of her skin being exposed is making this become _more_ than intimate. It's becoming – ah – he can feel certain lines beginning to blur before his very eyes – he wants to _touch_ it – "I'm doing this because I need to rest and you are becoming irksome," he says, almost to remind himself.

She nods and lies flat on the cot, and he walks to her and kneels down beside her. She needs to bathe. There is black rind beneath her nails, and the creases in her hands and between her toes are smudged darkly, some sort of dirt or soil or soot. He can smell her sweat drying in the little hollow connecting her neck and shoulder.

He hovers his hand, palm down, over her forehead. She flutters her eyelashes, and her feet wiggle anxiously.

"Don't fight," he says.

"You think this is what I look like fighting?"

He almost smiles at her.

"Will you teach me how to do this to myself?" she asks suddenly. "Just so I don't have to bother you again."

"I don't know if it's possible," he says, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. Her brow is smooth with perspiration. Though they are both yearning for sleep, this near physical touch makes his head swim, he's full of freezing cold water, exciting and painful and unpleasantly invigorating. He really does despise whatever it is that causes this, he wishes he could slow the Force down, somehow make it easier to comprehend and take in. He feels genuinely bewildered each time she is within eyesight.

He hasn't felt like this before.

"We should test it," she suggests, "it would help me."

He nods. "Close your eyes," he tells her. She closes them. Her lashes lie, long and slightly curved and brown, against her cheeks, which are bitten and mottled from sunlight. She sounds and looks and thinks and feels nothing but Light. He can't stand it.

He does it quickly, feels for sleep – but this is warm, milky, wholesome sleep, not the painful kind, he gives her the kind she desires, that she will go to willingly.

She begins breathing the steady, even rhythm of sleep in an instant. He turns and leaves as fast as he can. He does not look back. He can't. He has never looked back, he won't start to now.

* * *

 **Short update this time. I'm so sorry it's late. Life is cruel.**

 **Lots of love to y'all and please let me know what you think!**


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